AN:
Warning: HBP spoilers and absolutely minimal plot. I'm afraid that the story might end up being typical because I'm trying to keep it in canon and because of the millions of RLNT fics out there.But then, there's nothing wrong with trying.
To (alphabetically): Aspencer, aztecgold882, DiscombobulatedDrummer, dreamy-crazygirl, hopeforthefuture, katkin, Letishia, lilykinsclirely (did I get that correctly?), LSMunch, LutheinGranger2004, Lyra Lupin, mercutio-rane, nycgirl, TrinityDD, xanya-forever and for those who placed this in C2 groups or on their favorites list: I want to thank each of you guys individually but that would make this too long, so- Thank you so much! I love writing on its own but you make me love it all the more. You guys are the icing on the cake that is writing!
For the readers of Lonely Choices, I will update that soon- maybe Wednesday or Thursday.
Against Hope
How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
- William Buttler Yeats
Leaving Time
The bed was covered in moonlight and crumpled sheets and if one squinted long enough, the cold steel bars and metal wheels of its gurney-like appearance vanished for a moment and one could almost imagine it to be a romantic scene.
On the other hand, the corner was dark and smelled faintly of antiseptic potions that permeated the entire of St. Mungo's. But more importantly, it was safe. Safe from what, Remus did not want to determine, only that he could not bring himself to move closer to the bed that occupied the center of the room.
So he sat in the darkness and watched her restless slumber.
Her hair, long and an uncontroversial brown for a change, was spread across her pillow and covered half of her face. The moon streamed through the slats of the windows, tracing bars across her face and making her look small and pale and very, very young.
Too young. Too young for him. Too young to be dragged into a war. If born any other time, she should be worrying about enjoying her youth and earning enough money to enjoy her youth.
Being with him was hardly the way to enjoy her youth.
He kept looking at her from his corner in the dark. The healer had already informed him that she was going to be fine, there wasn't any indication of complications developing, and that she was simply being confined because she needed rest and some time to heal her bones and wounds.
Still, he felt strongly the urge to remain. But he could not. Even if the worst was over, and he had made sure that the children and the other Order members were safe, there were other things to do and see to. He still needed to send out communications to the rest of the Order to update them. He needed to talk to Dumbledore about the risks of using Grimmauld Place as headquarters for the Order. He needed to make sure that Harry was dealing with the loss of-.
He inhaled sharply.
Sirius. Sirius was- gone. He could not even bring himself to say it, not even in his head. How could he help Harry?
He hunched forward, his elbows settled on his knees and his hands drifted to his face. He needed a drink, maybe a cigarette, maybe a new mission. He closed his eyes against the heavy hopeless but the tears would not come. He would mourn properly, some other time, for the friend that was given back then taken away so quickly that it seemed like a brief dream. The lack of a body reinforced the illusion and made coping harder. It was as if Sirius did not exist and his death had been in vain.
She stirred slightly. Remus held his breath and pressed himself deeper into the corner. If he kept quiet long enough, she might go back to sleep. And he might, he just might be able to explain this visit on the excuse that somebody from the Order needed to inform Tonks, who was both Order member and relative, about what happened to Sirius.
After the death, his first instinct was to lay low for awhile. The fact that she was the only person whose company he willingly sought did not mean anything, of course.
Of course, Remus repeated that to himself. He was only doing his duty.
"Remus?" Her eyes shifted and blinked a few times until he felt her gaze settle on him.
"Wotcher." She said sleepily, her eyelids already descending over her eyes. "You came."
With her eyes closed, Tonks slid her hand slowly over the covers towards him. Then she opened her hand slightly, whether in supplication or because she was tired, Remus didn't know, but it was all that he could bear. So he moved his chair closer and covered her hand with his own.
"I can't believe you didn't bring any chocolate."
He gave a small smile and even if she kept her eyes closed, Tonks had a smile of her own. A few minutes passed in silence, and he thought she had drifted off, but when she spoke, her voice was strong and clear.
"How is everybody?"
"The children are safe." Remus answered, his voice hoarser than usual, from hours of disuse and in anticipation of the conversation.
"Hmmm." Tonks shifted closer but kept her eyes closed, as if holding a conversation and keeping them open tired her too much. "And the others."
"Nymphadora, someone-"
Then he couldn't speak anymore. He watched their hands instead. Her fingers were curled lightly around his, but his hands were white around the knuckles for gripping too tightly.
His hair was being pushed from his face before he realized that she was already half sitting.
"Who?"
"Sirius."
Her hand tightened around his.
The world blurred around Remus and the tears that refused to fall finally did. He felt her hands on his face, running through his hair, rubbing his back and nape. He heard her murmured shh although they were punctuated with a few hiccups and sobs. He thought she asked him when was the last time he slept and he thought he answered that he hasn't yet, although he wasn't really sure they had the conversation at all.
It was a jumble of sensations, feelings, thoughts and words and deeply tired, Remus allowed her to stroke his hair until he fell asleep.
Remus woke some time later and realized that he had fallen asleep on the chair with his head on the hospital bed. His face was sticky and his mouth sour from dried up tears. As he moved from his slouched position over the bed, he was reminded quite unpleasantly of his age and his affliction. He gingerly straightened his back and stretched the crick out of his neck then looked at Tonks.
They were still holding hands.
His mind went back to that night, less than a week ago. It had felt right, all the way back to Tonks' flat, felt right while kissing her again against the door jamb, felt right when he gave her the last chaste but lingering good night kiss. Only afterwards, while he undressed in the dark and he saw his scars turn stark white under filtering streetlight, it seemed wrong.
Lycanthropy was a disease he wouldn't wish on anyone, least of all somebody as- dare he say it- special as her. No matter how much he checks on the chains or the cages, no matter how many doses of Wolfsbane he takes, he will never be safe enough.
And every month, each time he looses his mind to the wolf, she wouldn't be safe either.
Even if nothing happened, he could not bear that she would have to sit up all night and wait while he growled and howled and scratched somewhere in a reinforced basement, or in St. Mungo's or in the Shrieking Shack. Wherever he may be while he lost himself to the pull of the moon, she would still be sitting up, waiting and wondering if the person going home to her the next day would still have his humanity intact.
It was just a kiss, you foolish git. He's done more with less emotional attachment.
He lifted her hand to his lips and planted a kiss.
"Good bye, Nymphadora."
The next day, amidst the glorious bouquets of flowers from her parents and friends, Tonks found a lone lilac beside her pillow.