Part Three

"I s'pose you haven't a lot to pack for this assignment."

Remus' quill went awry on his parchment, so surprised he was to hear Tonks joke. Having seen the blindsided look on her face upon Dumbledore's announcement, Remus had braced himself for a confrontation more along the lines of, Why didn't you tell me about your bloody mission, you great bastard? Perhaps accompanied by a dismemberment hex or less magical but no less effective and deserved slap across the face – both of which he was equally astonished none of the Order had administered.

Not that the atmosphere wasn't tense. The air seemed to weigh so heavily that Remus had difficulty looking up from the list of his duties he was re-delegating for his absence.

Tonks stood at the opposite end of the Weasleys' kitchen table, flexing and un-flexing her fingers. And of course it was very like her to make a joke at a moment like this, when she didn't know what to say.

She should not be the one to have to think of what to say.

As his gaze met hers, Tonks' face went the hue of her raspberry hair, and she muttered self-directed curses as her eyes bent. "Sorry. It's nothing to be glib about."

"Leave it to you to find a bright spot."

Remus produced a weak smile, which Tonks returned. It sent a jolt through him.

"I am the one who should be apologising." He would rather she rail at him. He deserved it, for treating her abominably, for lying to her by omission. She should not be so forgiving simply because she felt sorry for him on account of his less-than-choice mission. "You should not have heard that way. I should have told you before the meeting."

"Yeah." Tonks nodded. "You should've done."

"I'm sorry."

Tonks blundered around the table, tripping over chair legs as she took the corner seat, next to Remus' at the head. Their knees touched.

"I've never doubted Dumbledore in my life," she blurted, as if her natural clumsiness – the awkward joke, her nonexistent equilibrium – had broken the tension and restored them to equal footing.

"Don't start now."

"I can't help it, Remus. This seems completely mad. Are you at all optimistic?"

Optimism had never entered into Remus' decision to accept the mission. He'd agreed to it immediately, because Dumbledore thought it needed to be done. If he couldn't trust Dumbledore's judgment….

Hoarsely, Remus said, "Aren't you always saying the Ministry needs to reach out to werewolves, rather than alienate them?"

"That's not what I asked," said Tonks in true, focused Auror form. "D'you think you'll be able to persuade them not to go over to Voldemort's side?"

Determined not to let her worry over this, and buoyed by how normal this conversation seemed to be, Remus quirked an eyebrow and nudged Tonks with his knee. "What, Tonks, you don't think my brand of reasoned argument will make much headway with werewolves?"

Tonks mirrored his facial expression. "Not if it's the same brand you used on me last night."

Her voice held just enough of an edge that Remus knew this sense of normalcy would not last much longer.

Drawing his leg back from hers, immediately missing the light contact but trying not to think about it, Remus admitted, "It's more spy work than recruiting. Of course it will take some time for me to acclimate to life among the other lycanthropes—"

"I hate the thought of you being there," Tonks said miserably, shoulders sloping downward as she slumped in her chair. "They live…like…"

Did she even know what they lived like?

"Not like people," she concluded.

Remus' gaze dropped to the parchment. He could not bear to see the line between concern and pity blur in Tonks' eyes if she realised what "not like people" entailed.

He must blend in with people who made no effort to fit in with civilised society because they were used to not being allowed even what he'd had. He would not only lack paid employment, but would have nothing useful to fill his waking hours. He would sleep outdoors, where there were no proper facilities, and his worn clothes would become even more hopeless, and certainly would not stay clean. He would scrounge meals from bins and be weak and ill – at best.

There would be no Wolfsbane Potion. He'd transformed for years without it, but never among others…others of his kind.

He would be less human than he'd ever been.

"You're the most civilised person I know," said Tonks. "You're a professor. You belong in a study with of mahogany furniture and bookshelves so full you couldn't squeeze in a pamphlet."

"Not anymore," said Remus in clipped syllables, trying not to let his thoughts wander to his old office at Hogwarts, or some imaginary house shared with Tonks. "I'll have to fit in there."

"It's pretend fitting in," Tonks corrected.

"No," said Remus with a puff of mirthless laughter as he looked up again. "I am afraid it is very real."

"Think of it as morphing," Tonks said. "You get to go back to your real face once the job's done, and…" Her foot touched his ankle, then brushed up his shin as her voice dropped to an intimate pitch. "I'll be home waiting to kiss you."

"Like I did for you." That one day he'd stayed at her flat while she worked, and he believed he could live in domestic bliss with her. God, he'd been a fool.

"Yep. Role reversal." Tonks swung her legs under the table and added as an afterthought, "Only I'm the one with pink hair."

"I should certainly hope so. Pink hair would be a dead giveaway that I am a spy."

Tonks wilted. "Can't you spy from a distance, with an Invisibility Cloak?"

Remus wanted to prolong her light mood, though it required a good deal of effort to reproduce it. "That would be my preferred method," he said, "but somehow I cannot envision a pack of werewolves perched on boulders chatting pleasantly over Wolfsbane Potion about their political leanings."

Tonks laughed, but it did not fill her eyes. "I just don't like the thought of you living there."

It was time to address an earlier comment he'd let slip by. "And I don't like the thought of you waiting for me. I cannot ask that of you."

Her eyes darkened. "You don't have to ask."

"Tonks—"

"I wouldn't mind if you did," she interrupted softly, dropping her gaze to her fidgety hands clasped on the table. "To be perfectly honest, I'm offended that you didn't talk the mission over with me." Voice dropping to just above a whisper, Tonks asked, eyes darting up to him again, "Why didn't you?"

"There was nothing to discuss. I had already made up my mind."

Tonks' face registered no surprise. In fact, the way she closed her eyes indicated the acceptance of something expected. "You make me feel like I'm not…" She cast about for the proper description. "…not enough for you."

Remus' throat constricted. He'd made her feel inadequate.

Eyes downcast, fingers picking at a chipped edge of the table, Tonks added, "Maybe I'm not enough. Maybe that's why you're doing this. But I wish you'd tell me."

Suddenly Remus could not sit any longer, not beside her. He pushed back his chair and, gripping the arm rests tightly, forced his joints, stiff from the waxing moon, to straighten. They loosened as he paced away from the table, though he felt no less constricted by proximity to Tonks and his barrage of self-recriminating thoughts.

Merlin, how had he made such a mess of things? How could he be such a beast? Tonks should not have to support him; it wasn't that he didn't think she could. He stopped in front of the spice cupboard and leaned heavily against the door.

Or didn't he? That fear he'd unthinkingly voiced last night, that one day Tonks would see him as a mistake…

"It was too much," Remus blurted.

After a brief pause, Tonks said, "Too much for me to handle."

It was not a question, and her even tone made Remus turn back to her.

Tonks folded her arms across her chest as her gaze levelled on him. "Thanks for not giving me the old, It's not you, it's me."

"It's not you," said Remus. "Even if you hadn't other responsibilities – other very important responsibilities, Tonks – it would be too much to ask of you." In a lame attempt at not making her feel disrespected, he added "Of anybody."

Though Tonks' posture did not change, somehow the authoritative stance became a protective one. After a moment's intent scrutiny, Remus realised it was because her gaze had shifted inward.

He hated himself for calling her anybody. Nobody could do for him what Nymphadora Tonks had done.

She was remarkable.

For a long time, the only sound in the room came from the Weasleys' clock, the hands of which all seemed permanently fixed at "Mortal Peril." Each tick seemed slower than the one before, as though the mood that weighed increasingly heavier upon Remus and Tonks was altering the clock mechanism.

Finally, Tonks asked, "Is this because of Sirius?"

"Sirius?"

"You said we moved too fast because we're grieving. Did you mean you realised I couldn't help you?"

A creaking sound, as of the stairs, pricked Remus' ears. "Of course you have helped me."

"I haven't." Tonks shook her head as she stood. "You've talked to me about Sirius, but you've not said a word about how you feel, except that it's not as hard as when you thought he was a traitor and a murderer."

"It isn't as hard."

"But you're still hurting! You still lost your best mate!" Tonks' chest heaved as she continued, "I don't know what to say, what to do. Is that why you won't let me help you with this?"

"Don't think that," said Remus urgently, taking the steps between them laying his hands on her shoulders. "Do not ever think that. You had nothing to do with—"

Another creak. Remus' hands fell to his sides as they whipped to see Hermione round the bend in the staircase.

She froze when she saw them, eyes round, whether with guilt or surprise, Remus could not tell. His heart accelerated. What had she heard?

"I'm sorry," said Hermione, turning to scurry back upstairs, "I'll come back later."

When her footfalls receded, Remus faced Tonks again. His hands moved as though to resume their place on her shoulders, but he checked the impulse.

"This has nothing to do with what you did or didn't do regarding Sirius," he said. "You've had your own burdens. I never expected you to carry mine."

"But you should expect that, Remus!" Tonks cried. "That's how relationships work!"

Remus winced at her volume. "Hermione, the Weasleys – they'll hear."

Tonks gave him a withering look that told him she didn't care who heard. But she exhaled deeply and lowered her voice.

"Look, Remus," she said, raking her hands through her hair as she swept around him, "I'm not saying we should run off and get married, but—"

"Tonks—"

"Hear me out!" Tonks' eyes blazed as she wheeled back. More quietly, but with no less vehemence, she said, "I believe what I said last night – we need a future to look forward to if we're going to get through this. Both of us."

Remus gritted his teeth. How many times were they going to go through this, or some variation thereof? "I cannot have ties here."

Her brows knit. "But you won't be completely cut off. You'll report."

"When I can."

"Right." She nodded, once. "Then we'll be together when you can. You need me."

"What I need is for you to be safe."

Tonks snorted. "We're in a bleeding war. I think they take safe out of the dictionary in wartime."

"All the more reason not to place yourself in the way of unnecessary danger."

"I've got one of the most dangerous jobs in the Wizarding world." Tonks' hands balled into fists at her sides. "I'm a member of the Order. I volunteered for both. D'you want me to drop them so I can be safe?"

Remus swallowed hard as he struggled to quell mounting irritation. He respected Tonks' career and the work she did in the Order. He would never ask her to give up either. She had worked hard to earn both positions, and he accepted them as part of her. Didn't she know that?

In a measured tone he asked, "Are you saying I'm chauvinistic?"

Her chin jutted slightly, her tension almost an affirmation of his question.

"I'm saying you're a man in love," came her contrastingly mild reply, "and you've got a strong protective streak and a bit of a nobility complex."

One hand opened and rested on the table, fidgeting with the crocheted table runner; the fingers of her other worked restlessly through her spiky hair, tugging at the ends to make the violent pink tufts stand out more. "I want to be the one who brings your Wolfsbane potion."

"You can't—"

"Bollocks! I'm the most qualified in the Order. Ready-made disguise."

Even as Tonks spoke, her heart-shaped face narrowed. The hollows of her cheeks deepened, and sallow, scarred skin stretched taut across protruding cheekbones. Her pink hair lengthened and drooped in her face, over her shoulders, in matted brown locks.

"Stop!" Remus exclaimed. "Put your face back!"

Tonks' eyes remained dark and wide as her features returned to their true state. Remus' stomach knotted. His outburst had frightened her.

"I'm sorry," he sputtered, "I don't ever want to see you like that…" That Tonks would consider going anywhere near the camp, even undercover, made him ill. He hoped he wouldn't have nightmares of her looking…like one of them. "And I can't take the potion while I am living underground."

"What?" She fumbled for a chair and dropped heavily onto it. "You can't mean to transform without—"

"They'd know. My cover would be destroyed. Greyback could take revenge on…" He swallowed painfully, unable to finish the sentence.

"Remus…In that case you'll need me more than ever."

"I cannot have ties," he repeated. "Please, understand, I will not have you in danger on my account."

"But that's love." She reached for him.

"Don't." Remus skirted her hand. "Don't make this more difficult for me than it is." He gathered his writing implements, stuffed them into his pockets, and picked up the parchment. "This is what I am. This is why I told you I am too dangerous."

"No!" Tonks choked, knocking over her chair over as she stood. "It's not what you are."

"If I let you give up your life for me," Remus rasped, holding out his hand holding the parchment to keep her at a distance, "then I've done no better than if I'd bit you."

"Bit me! Remus—"

"Letting you go," he spoke deliberately over her, "is the one human thing I can do."

Tonks opened her mouth to protest, but Remus said emphatically, "Please – please don't take that from me. If I can have that…" He drew in a ragged breath. "…then maybe I can face everything else."

Mercifully, Tonks said nothing – although it was hardly comforting for Remus to see her chin quivering so that it was more likely she could not speak, rather than had nothing to say. The brightness of her eyes certainly indicated a desire to talk, as well as a surge of tears she would not be able to fight much longer.

As he let his gaze drift over her, as though to commit more permanently to memory every inch of the woman he knew by heart, Remus realised that Tonks' hair, while no longer unkempt or tangled and dirty looking, remained her natural mousy brown. For some reason that wrenched him more than anything.

Remus moved toward her, wincing at the hope that briefly lit her eyes. Avoiding contact with her, he righted the chair, then turned away before he could see her tears fall.

"Goodbye, Nymphadora."

As he mounted the stairs, the acrid tastes of loss and guilt burned his throat and mouth. What had he done? He was a fool to give her up, a bastard to break her heart. It was so nauseating that he faltered in his steps and very nearly turned around and asked Tonks if he could take it all back, if they could simply pretend this whole business about breaking up had never occurred.

But he continued upstairs, forcing the same resolve into his limbs as he did into his throat and stomach each month when he chocked down the vile Wolfsbane Potion. The foul taste was worth it to curb the worst effects of transforming into the werewolf, wasn't it?

Perhaps the more bitter the medicine, the better the remedy.

So long as Nymphadora was safe, he would drink it.

The End