"Well, well," said Sirius, blinking at the fiery red-headed woman who blundered into the basement kitchen of twelve Grimmauld. "If only I hadn't heard the thunk of that bloody umbrella stand, a stream of swear words I'm pretty sure only Aurors know, and my dear old mum going on about shape-shifting half-blooded freaks, I'd have sworn you were a long-lost Weasley daughter."
Remus laughed as Tonks swatted her cousin on the back of the head as she made her way round the table.
"Oi!" Sirius shot her a playful glare under his heavy black eyebrows. "Don't hit me because I expected you to come in pink and perky, like Remus said you were this morning, for him."
"Actually..." Remus felt pink himself, though not particularly perky, staring at the chair instead of the witch he was drawing it out for, whose inquisitive dark eyes he felt as she hung her satchel over the back. "I said Tonks' hair was blue when I arrived at her flat, and pink before she left for work. Presumably an act of defiance toward Dolores Umbridge."
"And I said you're a daft prat." Sirius tilted his chair on its back legs. "Go on, Tonks. Tell Moony pink's the colour you wear for him. We've been going round and round about it all day, and I've got twenty galleons against Dung on it."
Remus couldn't think of a more far-fetched notion than Tonks having a hair colour she wore for him -- after all, she'd gone orange for their first date, as well as blue this morning. Even so, he found himself searching her face for a blush or a bitten lip or furtive sidelong glance or some other sign that would confirm Sirius' claim. There was something about her expression that seemed self-conscious. Of course, that didn't mean she was pleased people thought she might consider other their opinions when choosing hair colours. In fact, he had a pretty good feeling people who wore pink or blue or any other unnatural hair colour, didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of it.
Though, he hoped she knew he thought of it a great deal, and thought well of it, too. He felt the faintest prick of disappointment when she plopped into her chair and declared, "Remus is right. It is Umbridge rebellion.".
Sirius smirked. "Was, you mean, since you're not pink anymore. Obviously you haven't been listening to our Marauder stories, or you'd know it was Prongs that fancied redheads, not Moony."
"This is still Umbridge rebellion," Tonks replied absently, then turned suddenly to Remus with a glow in her eyes that made him catch his breath. Her small hand found his under the table. "Wotcher, you."
"Hello." His thumb scuffed her skin, and his pulse fluttered erratically in his wrist to see her smile widen in response. "Tea?"
Immediately he wished he could have thought of a more creative thing to say, but he felt incapable of putting more words than that together in a coherent thought.
Apparently, given the grateful, weary look that crept into her smile, it was the best thing he could have said. "Merlin, yes."
"I set out a cup for you," Remus said, releasing her hand to summon one from the cupboard, "but Sirius, the greedy git, nicked it."
Mouth full of biscuit, Sirius raised the mug in salute, then threw back a swig as though it were Firewhiskey. Remus couldn't be sure his mate hadn't laced his tea with a shot.
"Why red-haired rebellion, Nymphadora?" Sirius asked. Before she could swallow her tea to protest his use of her Christian name, ignoring her eyes blazing over the rim of her cup, he went on: "Only it's a bit tame for someone that said you weren't human, and then took over a Dark Creature's teaching post."
"It's not my post, Padfoot," said Remus quietly.
His jaw tightened and his neck burned as Tonks' arm brushed his as she sat up straight, and felt her eyes watching him. He knew Sirius well enough to know hadn't used the term Dark Creature except to make a point, but Tonks didn't. Given how defensive she'd got this morning...
But she only asked, "You told him?"
Thank Merlin she hadn't followed Sirius' train of thought; but Remus was hardly relieved. It had never occurred to him that she hadn't intended to reveal that information to the Order. "I hope it was all right?"
"Fine," she said. "Just don't let the kids hear. It's not public knowledge yet, and I don't want them to spend the rest of the summer dreading the start of term."
Sirius nodded his understanding as he reached for another biscuit, but impatiently repeated, "The red hair?"
"When I got to work this morning," Tonks replied, looking at Remus, "Umbridge had made an addendum to the dress code: Ministry employees may only have natural hair colours -- natural excludes pink, purple, blue, green--"
"Umbridge specified pink?" Remus was astonished that the Undersecretary to the Minister would make such a pointed barb at Tonks, though he supposed he shouldn't be.
"That she did," said Tonks in a low tone of disgust. "First colour on the list. So, instead of Tonks brown or Black black, I went Weasley red to annoy her."
Sirius' barking laughter, tinged with bitterness, rang through the kitchen. "I knew there had to be someone in the family who thought like me!"
Abruptly, he stood and, with a light-hearted air Remus hadn't seen in his mate since they'd moved into Grimmauld Place, bowed dramatically. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll actually stop annoying you two lovebirds so I can do my godfatherly duty."
"Godfatherly duty?" Remus repeated dubiously as Sirius' long strides carried him toward the stairs.
Long hair swirling, Sirius turned and flashed the smile which contained a flicker of his old flamboyant, appealing devilishness. "I've got to find out whether Harry's people-annoying skills have got rusty over the summer. He'll needs them sharp if he's got to put up with Snivellus and Umbridge, as well."
The legs of Remus' chair screeched as he pushed back from the table and stood. "Tonks was right. The children shouldn't be told." He regretted telling Sirius.
Once-handsome features looking harsher and more haggard than ever as his mood shifted, Sirius' eyes glinted like sharp silver blades. "You don't think Harry deserves fair warning? Kid can handle Dementors, but Umbridge--"
"The last thing Harry needs," replied Remus mildly, "is to be poisoned to her before he sets foot in her classroom."
"Your classroom!" Sirius fired back. "As if the toad won't poison Harry to her without my help!"
It was true enough, and Remus wasn't sure how to argue his own stance beyond the fact that it simply wasn't right to forewarn Harry. Why wasn't it? Couldn't they at least tell Harry to tread carefully?
"Of course she will," Tonks said, also getting to her feet, "but Remus is right. Much as I loathe Umbridge, my grudge is personal."
Instantly, Remus' conviction returned in full force to have Tonks standing -- literally as well as figuratively -- by his side. He felt an urge to take her hand, in a show of solidarity, but refrained when an inner voice mocked his dramatics.:
"Plus Harry likes Remus," Tonks went on. "Of course he'll get pissed off about someone who's made his favourite professor's life difficult."
"Even more reason to tell him," said Sirius. "Just think of it: Harry Potter, champion of werewolf rights. Channel that Granger girl's energy in something more productive than wages for sodding house-elves--"
Remus interrupted with a sarcastic laugh. "As if Harry's championing of Voldemort's return has worked out so well for him."
For a moment, Sirius fixed him with a cold stare, then he flicked his hair over his shoulder with an air of unconcern and drawled to Tonks, "If you're going to keep going out with him, you should probably know that Moony never willingly lets anyone try to make his life less miserable--"
"My life's not mis--"
"God-awful martyr complex."
"Don't be like this." Remus raked his fingers through his hair.
"Like what? A caring friend? The godfather Harry's never had?"
Like a man who, though genuinely caring, would not hesitate to get his friends wound up for his own amusement.
Aloud, Remus said, "I'm not playing this game with you, Padfoot."
His eyes locked in a fierce staring duel with Sirius' until Tonks took Remus' arm and gently tugged him back into his chair.
Sirius threw up his hands. "Fine," he said darkly, glaring from beneath his heavily knit brows. "My lips are sealed till Harry writes from Hogwarts demanding to know why I didn't warn him about Umbridge."
The steely gaze bore into Remus for another moment, then Sirius turned to descend the stairs.
"Padfoot," Remus began, but Tonks spoke at the same time, the feminine octave of her voice carrying over his in the cavernous kitchen.
"Take this with you." She twisted in her chair to delve into her satchel. She pulled out a crumpled parchment, and unfolded it to reveal her modified photograph of Umbridge. "This ought to cheer you up."
Sirius summoned it with a silent, weary flick of his wand. For a moment he stared at it, stony-faced, but then Remus noted the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
"God," Sirius snorted. "Didn't think the bitch could get any uglier if she used a Grow-Your-Own-Warts Kit."
"Pin it up in Buckbeak's room," said Tonks, "and throw darts at her."
"Only charm it so if Harry comes up it'll look like a Playwitch centrefold or something," Remus added.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "He may not have cottoned on to the pair of you being all cow-eyed over each other, but I think he'd notice something off about me throwing darts at a pin-up. Thanks, Tonks," he said with a faint nod, stuffing the parchment into his pocket. "Now see if you can't find more ways to annoy Umbridge, and lighten Moony up, as well, okay?"
When he had disappeared up the stairs, and the sound of his heavy footsteps above had died, Remus leant back in his chair and heaved a sigh as he ran a hand over his face. "He tires me."
"I egged him on," Tonks said, frowning at the stairs. She turned to Remus and smiled apologetically. "Sorry."
"No need to be." Remus sipped his tea and grimaced. It had gone cold. Getting up again, and grabbing the kettle, he said, "You turned him from angry to sarcastic. That means he'll be over it soon."
Tonks nodded, her smile still small and, he thought, not quite like herself. She looked tired -- her eyes were too bright, and fixed, and there were faintly purple crescents in hollows beneath -- and he'd noticed it before now, even if he hadn't precisely registered it. He should have inquired...And now she was massaging her temples as though she had a headache.
"Fresh cup?" Remus asked.
"Hm? Oh..." She looked into her mug of un-drunk tea. "I'll just do a Warming Charm."
Remus tsked and gently pulled it from her slack grip. "Nonsense. You can't re-warm tea."
Impulsively, he stooped and pressed a quick kiss to her temple. As he straightened, she looked up at him. In spite of the fatigue written all over her face, he couldn't help but notice the curve of her jaw down to her throat, which, that morning, he had stopped himself from kissing. Would he get to do that before his shift at the Department of Mysteries? He'd spent a large portion of today puzzling out the mystery of whether he would do. Was it just his imagination -- his tendency toward wishful thinking which he found himself indulging far more frequently than he'd previously felt comfortable doing since she'd come into his life -- or did she really look a little less tired now than she had a moment ago?
Impossible. He'd believe it if he'd given her soothing tea already; but he'd only offered it.
Yet her eyes were wide and soft with what was unmistakably gratitude.
He swallowed hard against a lump that seemed to stop the flow of air to his lungs.
What did that look mean? What did she think he'd done for her?
"I'm a bit wound up today," said Tonks, "in case you hadn't noticed."
"I had," said Remus, letting his arm brush her shoulder as he turned to the sink to empty their tepid tea. "It happens to the best of us."
"It was Umbridge all day long at the Ministry," she said.
Though Remus wanted to encourage her, and wanted to let her talk if she needed, his shoulders tensed at the thought of her parting words, about wanting to continue their breakfast conversation.
"No one talked about anything but the new Educational Decree and the other legislation she's passed into Magical Law."
"Well, you're away from the Ministry now," Remus said. "You don't have to hear about Umbridge or her decrees and legislation -- or her hair colour bigotry -- any more today."
He smiled over his shoulder at her, and hoped she would take the hint to change the subject -- but Tonks continued as though she hadn't even heard him.
"Of course Fudge gave her a big send-off. Made me sick to hear him go on about all her public works." She snorted, opening and closing flexed fingers on top of the table. "I wanted to stand up and ask Fudge how he'd the guts to call them public works when not all the public benefit from them."
Dropping the teabags into the mugs, Remus prayed in vain for her to tire of the subject before she got to the point he was sure she'd been leading up to.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," she said. Ordinarily it was a sentence that would have stolen sweetly through him, producing that dopey grin again, but it didn't have that effect when her fingers were balled into fists on the table and it was followed by, "Because of that...that...I can't even think of anything enough bad enough to call Umbrage...you can't find work--"
Now Remus' palms were moist with perspiration. Wiping them on the legs of his trousers, the worn fabric only exaggerated the conversation's juxtaposition of his lack of employment against her successful career among the most important people in the Wizarding community.
"Tonks--"
"--and now she's taking your post--"
He tapped his wand to the kettle, and the shrill blast cut her off. In one last attempt to steer the conversation away from himself, he said, struggling to maintain a level tone, "Wouldn't it calm you more not to discuss this?"
"I need to rant," Tonks answered quickly, almost flippantly to his ears. "And I'd really like to know how you feel. If I'm this worked up, I can't imagine what it does to you."
Silently, Remus filled their teacups. The simple activity calmed his frazzled nerves somewhat and helped him regain perspective about the subject. Tonks wasn't trying to make him uncomfortable. He was touched that she wanted to know how he felt about things; she was really very sweet to be upset on his behalf. It was a great deal more concern than he got from most people. He just had to make her see that her fretting was unnecessary, and that he didn't like to dwell on the things that upset him.
She thanked him when he placed her tea in front of her, but she said nothing else. Her dark eyes were trained on him as he slid into his seat. She was turned toward him, clearly waiting for him to speak, but Remus took his time, sipping his tea and eating a biscuit.
Finally, he said, "I can't afford to be ill about things that are beyond my control."
Tonks frowned briefly, then looked at him with, quite startlingly, twinkling eyes. "But you do take umbrage to her?"
Wincing, Remus said, "Wretched pun, Tonks. Absolutely wretched." But he laughed with her, welcoming the release of tension.
They drank their tea for another quiet moment, during which Tonks studied him. Her expression was serious, expectant even, and he could see that he hadn't offered enough about himself to satisfy her.
"Yes," Remus said slowly, "I do take umbrage at these things. But it's not just Umbridge."
"It's the whole bloody Ministry." Tonks put her cup down forcefully, sloshing tea almost purposely, as though to underscore her frustration. "I swear, sometimes they make me angrier than the Death Eaters. If only they'd reach out to the werewolves!"
Remus found himself smiling -- a real smile, not the placid one he'd forced so many times throughout this conversation in the attempt to curb it. "I'm flattered you're so…"
He scrabbled about his vocabulary for the correct word to describe her attitude. Studying her face for inspiration, he noticed that the set of her jaw was determined. No, that wasn't it, precisely. The emotion in her dark eyes was far deeper, more personal.
"Passionate," he said, without thinking, then found himself too aware of the connotations of the word to meet her eye. The fingers of one hand toyed with the handle of his mug; the others tugged at the long hair that had crept into his collar, making his neck itch.
"Your support is very zealous," he clarified, though he wasn't fooling himself, and was fairly certain he wasn't fooling a clever witch like her.
Especially since, under the table, his foot had developed a mind of its own, and decided that nudging hers in a flirty schoolboy way, was the thing to do. His mouth seemed to have done the same, he thought, as he heard himself say, in a low tone he didn't use for anyone else, "Only I'm afraid you're rather biased."
"Yeah. Just a bit..." Tonks flushed slightly, and drank her tea self-consciously.
Almost immediately, though, her eyes darted up to him again, holding him in a way that made Remus think wouldn't care if everyone else in the world turned into Dolores Umbridge, so long as there remained a Nymphadora Tonks to keep looking at him like that.
But she didn't.
Her gaze drifted again, and a little wrinkle formed at the bridge of her nose as her brows knit. "The Ministry ought to be making Wolfsbane Potion available to all the werewolves, and they ought to be educating the Wizarding community about lycanthropy." The earnest lines of her face deepened to form a scowl. "Instead, Umbridge encourages ignorance and fear. I can't help but hate her for that."
Remus noticed how tightly she clutched the handle of her teacup. Setting down his own, he brushed his fingertips across her knuckles. "Hatred expends a lot of energy."
Her grip relaxed beneath his fingers, but even though his touch had done what he'd hoped, he allowed it to linger.
"Don't waste any on people like Umbridge," he said. "In these times, you need it for so many other things."
It seemed like a wise thing to say. Indeed, he'd said it to others before. And it had been his own mantra for years.
"That's great, Remus," said Tonks, withdrawing her hand, "but it's not how you feel."
Tonks folded her arms across her chest. Settling back in her chair, she assumed a pose that made her seem almost intimidating. She left no doubt that she was an Auror, and a force to be reckoned with.
Remus' chest tightened as frustration mounted from the knot in his stomach. "Didn't you just tell Sirius that it wouldn't do for Harry to know about Umbridge and her anti-werewolf legislation, because it would be giving him my grudge?"
Her mouth fell open, and for a second Remus thought he'd nipped the quarrel in the bud before it really could be called one. But then her nostrils flared, and her chin tucked jutted, stiff with defiance. "Don't call me a hypocrite."
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"It's different."
"How?"
"I--you--we--" Running out of pronouns, and apparently not sure what verbs to apply to them, Tonks sputtered, "Don't be stupid, Remus. It's different, and you know it."
Though his impulse was to argue, part of his mind asserted that she was right. People who were involved shared these things. But surely it couldn't be right, in any case, to share a grudge? At any rate, they'd only been on one date.
"Must you push this?" he asked.
Tonks' features softened, temper vanishing as though by magic. "I want to know you better," she said in the voice he'd earlier named passionate. She moved a hand, as though to reach for him, but stopped short. "I want to understand what it's like for you."
"I appreciate the sentiment."
He glanced at her hand, which it seemed she wanted him to take. When he wrapped his own fingers around hers, she looked pleased -- but then he moved her hand to her lap, and released it.
"You can't understand what it's like," he told her, ignoring the little furrow that formed between her eyebrows as she frowned. I can't describe it. And talking about it only makes it worse."
"No." Tonks shook her head. "Talking helps. You're just not used to it."
Remus could no longer keep his frustration from boiling over. "What do you want me to say? Do I need to submit to you in writing that I resent Umbridge and the Ministry of Magic? My own carelessness cost me the Hogwarts post. Since then I haven't found any other work, not even where I couldn't possibly be a danger. Because of that, I can never hope for stability, or to have a family--"
He stopped short. He'd let his emotions get the better of him, and he'd revealed too much.
Far too much.
Tonks' face was white, and her eyes were wide and startled and -- Remus cringed -- pitying.
His head bowed. He couldn't look at her. He hated for anyone to look at him that way; she never had before.
"Can't have a...? Remus, you don't think you can marry?"
Her tone of genuine disbelief compelled Remus to look up at her again, to see if her face matched her voice.
It did.
His gaze returned to the floor, to his scuffed and defeated shoes. "Surely you did not expect that I could?"
When he'd first realised his feelings for Tonks were more than platonic, he'd told himself he couldn't act on them. However, he'd been so enamoured of her -- and of her apparent interest in him -- that he'd allowed himself to. A date could just be a date, she'd said; it wasn't a lifetime commitment. And he'd allowed himself to be convinced. Had convinced himself, all along, really.
But obviously Tonks had considered the possibility of the long-term. Not with him, he could never flatter himself to that extent, but in vague generality. And why shouldn't she? She was a bright, lovely young witch, at the age most people got married. Even if she was more career-minded at the moment, a husband and children were surely dreams her future would bring to fruition.
At least she ought to have the chance at that future.
Or the choice to have it.
For him, there were no choices. And if she was with him, there were none for her, either. Today's incessant talk of Umbridge had hammered that into his head.
Remus stood, stiffly, not sure whether the creaking sound was from the ancient chair, or his own joints, stiffening as the moon waxed. "You shouldn't waste your time with me."
He avoided her gaze as he carried his teacup to the sink and cast a scourgify spell over it. He still did not make eye contact with her as he started out of the kitchen.
"Remus, wait!" she called hoarsely when he was halfway up the stairs.
He heard the clattering sound of her chair as she presumably got up, but didn't turn, or break stride.
"I've got guard duty. Good night, Nymphadora."
He heard her call something about the conversation not being finished, and about Sirius being right about him not letting people in and having a martyr complex, and -- he assumed -- not to call her Nymphadora.
He didn't know for sure, because the last words were drowned out by Mrs. Black's portrait shrieking, "FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCT OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREED, MUTANT, FREAK, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!"
A/N: Those who leave feedback will receive personal messages of thanks from mature and level-headed Remus, who refuses to get worked up by the likes of Dolores Umbridge, and instead channels his energies into more pleasing endeavors, like Marauder pranks, or dating. Or, if you prefer, Tonks and Sirius will come make bad puns and other derogatory comments to make you feel personally vindicated about the people who make your life difficult.