Angst (of course) set in the later months of Half-Blood Prince.
Wickey Stickets
It's a trap, he realises, too late. He'd forgotten, all these months he's been gone, how invested Molly Weasley is in his relationship, and how skilled she is at ambushing people exactly where she needs them. Remus supposes that those are the sort of skills a mother picks up after seven children, especially in the house she's run for so many years. Molly knows all the best spots for cornering people.
Only Molly hasn't trapped him in the kitchen with herself. She's trapped him in the kitchen with Dora, who looks as bewildered and shocked as Remus feels, as the door shuts behind them.
"I suppose they wanted you to talk to me eventually," she sighs, not warmly.
Remus wishes he could apparate away, but he can't leave Tonks alone here. He's done that twice before in these circumstances, and it didn't work. Perhaps the right thing to do this time is to stay to attempt to reason.
"Yes," he acknowledges, cautious.
The one thing he cannot bear to do is look at her. Remus stares at the chipped sunflower tile a foot to the left of her but he can see, from the corner of his vision, Dora's eyes fixed on his. The stare makes him even more flustered and guilty. And, horribly, insanely, Tonks' gaze on him makes lust begin to swim through his body. His brain flicks to the idea of their bodies pressing against the kitchen counter, Dora's arms around his neck, his hands on her waist, their chests squashed against each others' and their mouths kissing hard. Humiliation and frustration barge in, beating down the lust, because this was supposed to stop. He was meant to fall out of love with Tonks, or be shamed out of it by months of living with werewolves, reminding himself what he truly is. But it didn't work. Thoughts of her haunted him but, in a way Remus couldn't explain, they also kept him going. They had no future together, yet she was the reason he persevered. Remus didn't understand it. That was one of the awful parts of this horrible infatuation- it warped who he thought he was. A year ago that had been thrilling, though now it brought only embarrassment and miserable bewilderment.
Remus can live with bewilderment, misery and embarrassment. He might spend the rest of his life pining for her, which may be unbearable, but he'll have to learn to bear it. What is not bearable is the fact that Tonks hasn't fallen out of love with him. This is the worst-case scenario, the one thing he'd wanted to achieve, and he's failed. He's tried to do the right thing, no matter how difficult it's been for him. He's put himself through hell for her sake, her heart, but her heart is still hooked on him. Perhaps to run had been the coward's way out, and his true comeuppance will be this conversation.
Tonks crosses her arms and raises her chin. She's drawn and pinched, but still very much the fierce Dora he's always known.
"Just tell me one thing," she says. She's going to ask him if he loves her. He knows she is. Do you love me? Did you ever love me? The answer is yes. Of course it's yes. He adores her. Idolises her. She can do anything, and that isn't superlative, that's true. She's clever and perceptive, tough and serious, funny and pragmatic. People like her, and he envies that. He's too strained and detached for people to like, and when they find out what he truly is, he is hated.
He's jealous, too, of her youth. Remus was not happy when he was Tonks' age, but at least back then he hadn't lived all the grim, bleak years he has lived now. He didn't know how harsh his life would get. The young have fewer bad memories.
He is jealous of her job, which pays enough for her to afford a roof over her head, food in the cupboard, and presents for the people she loves. A job which fills her with passion and pride. Where she feels accepted and has friends. A job which isn't just a job but a career, somewhere she will progress and learn and stay, with the security and satisfaction that brings. None of this was achieved through luck. Quite the opposite- her family connections mean the cards were stacked against her. Dora got where she is through effort and grit. She is astonishing.
"Do you blame me?"
"Pardon?" Remus hadn't expected this question, and is so taken aback that he almost forgets to keep his stare resolutely on the sunflower.
"For Sirius. Do you think it was my fault?"
He's walloped with shock. "No. No, of course not. It couldn't be your fault,"
Bellatrix Lestrange killed Sirius Black. Remus carries some of the burden for his friend's death. He should have been stricter with Sirius's impatience, but his misguided and childish loyalty to his oldest friend swayed him. This had been forgivable when they were twelve, fifteen, twenty. But at thirty-six it was ridiculous. Had he ever grown out of being in awe of Sirius? A little afraid of him, perhaps? Remus has interrogated himself about this for the past year, and still does not know the answer.
Others are culpable in Padfoot's' death too: Dumbledore, who admitted to Remus himself that he had made a mistake with Sirius. Snape, who had provoked him, sinking to a new low by involving Harry. Sirius himself, of course. But most of all Bellatrix Lestrange. She was the one who shot the curse to send him through the arch. She killed him. Tonks had been seriously injured by attempting to protect Sirius, and carries none of the blame.
"I should have got Bellatrix. If I disarmed her, Sirius would still be alive,"
"In open combat it was-"
"I broke your heart,"
Her tone is stony, accusatory, daring him to confirm it. Dora, Remus wants to say, there's no need for poetics. Dora, my heart has been bruised and battered for so many years. Dora, I broke my own heart, it broke for you.
He does not say any of these. Instead, he croaks, "No,"
"I blamed myself for ages, still do a bit,"
"Sirius' death was not your fault," he repeats solemnly. He must make her understand.
"I know that now," Tonks snaps, "I dealt with that without you. The world keeps turning when you're not here, Remus,"
Last year, she would tell him he was funny, resilient, clever, generous, gorgeous. She dismissed the flaws he believes are in his character, and grew impatient when he insisted he was broken and wrong. Yet she could also pinpoint Remus with flaws he didn't know he had, and bluntly confront him with them. It was baffling. That's exactly what Dora's doing now, and she's right. He has been self-absorbed and narcissistic. But, Remus thinks despairingly, the world hasn't turned enough. If he's going to listen to Tonks, he must accept that his exile did not have the effect on her that he hoped it would. Dora has not moved on. She is still mournful and bitter because of him. Her feelings for him, that gave him warmth and joy, that were wrong and dangerous, are still there.
He must be clear. "The situation has not changed, Tonks. We can't be together," Remus says, hating himself for being too afraid to look into her eyes.
He expects Tonks to pause to take the hit of these words, but she immediately takes an in-breath to respond, and the speed of this reaction makes Remus know he has made an error.
"Did I say we should be ? Did I say I want to be? I want to talk to you for God's sake. We could be friends if you'd let us, but you won't even be civil. What are you, twelve?"
This was his mistake. Dora did not bring up their romantic relationship. When he returned a few weeks ago, she tried to hug him, not kiss him. There has been no declaration of enduring love or begging for them to get back together. He has now been the one to show his hand.
"I'm talking to you now," Remus grasps feebly.
"What an honour,"
"I didn't want to upset you,"
"How's that working out?"
"If you want to be friends, I..." Remus begins, but the sentence dies in his mouth. The cruelty with which he has treated her is no basis for friendship. It would be crass disrespect to pretend to be her friend, while secretly fantasising about holding and kissing and making love to her. It would be unfair to offer her friendship when she still remembers and desires the lovers they once were. They cannot be friends.
" You're the one who just said we can't get back together as an item," Tonks notes, "I didn't say that part because I didn't want to put pressure on you, or make this more awkward than it already fucking is,"
She loves ascribing adjectives to situations: This is nice. This is weird. This is fine. This is perfect. This is annoying. This is bloody fantastic. And she's right, it is awkward, and he doesn't know what else to say.
Fortunately (one of the few fortunate parts about this situation), Dora usually ploughs on talking through silences: "For God's sake, Remus people break up. It happens, fine. What people don't do is break up five minutes after Sirius dies then go rushing off to a werewolf colony to get themself killed! You didn't even talk to me about him! We went from talking for hours to -bam! Nothing. And you did need me. Who else were you going to talk to about him? About anything?"
"I thought it would be-"
"Better for me. I know. It wasn't. Why d'you have to think you're right all the time?"
"I was exceptionally wrong about us," is all he can tell her. He owes her that truth.
"It wasn't wrong. We were happy. I know you were happy with me, and I know how unhappy you'd been for forever before,"
"It was selfish to make my happiness detrimental to your-"
"It wasn't selfish if I wanted it! That's the opposite of selfish! I was happy! You make me happy. For God's sake, why can't you admit that?"
"I am a dark creature who is old and ill and impoverished. I should not have involved myself with you,"
He thinks he may have said this to her when he broke up with her a year ago. He does not remember much of what he said, but he can recall perfectly the look of bafflement and betrayal on her face, and the strangled pain in her voice.
Now, Tonks' voice is more snapping than strangled: "Well, you did. And you're still involved with me because this didn't end in that pub on Grey's Inn Road. We both know I'm still in love with you. I didn't want to assume you'd still love me back. I don't know if I want you to be or not, but you wouldn't be treating me like this if you didn't still have feelings for me. How am I supposed to feel about that? You tell me, because I don't bloody know,"
Lie. Lie. I don't love you. I never did. He should lie and tell her it was just a fling. He should lie and say I misread my own feelings. I am not used to affection and sex and romance, and mistook those things for love. He should lie and explain I am a monster, and I cannot love like a man. He's lied to her before. But he cannot lie to her about this.
Coward that he is, he changes the subject: "You do know how werewolves are treated. It will get worse as Voldemort's supporters become louder and the Ministry panics. I've already heard new legislation may passed by the Ministry to limit the rights of werewolves further. You compromise your job already with Order involvement, and I will lead you to put your career more at risk,"
"That's my choice, mine to deal with,"
"I will not be part of this choice,"
"You need someone to care for you," Dora accuses, "Protect you,"
Remus manages to force out a lie, "Please don't tell me what I need. I am sorry I ever suggested I need anything from you," yet he crumbles again, because she looks so strained and wounded, and he can't help but add, "I will be sorry for the rest of my life,"
What is that sentence? A confession? An attempt to reassure her- how? It'll hurt her more. An attempt to reassure himself, alleviate some of the guilt which dogs him? Is that all she's worth to him? He doesn't deserve her. She didn't deserve this, she never deserved him capsizing her world the way he has and continues to. Why does she love him? Remus feels suffocated with how unfair it is on her, that her heart has pinned itself so firmly to a man who has only given her hardship and maltreatment.
" Or you could be happy for the rest of your life," Tonks urges. The final syllable cuts off in her mouth as she realises what she's said and what it means. The rest of your life. Happy.
You could spend the rest of your life with me.
Remus nails his eyes to the sunflower, keeping his body still even though his insides are shaking. There is a horrible, grubby pause. Then he hears Dora take a breath, and- "With me, Remus. Our lives, how about it?"
It's too big and too dreadful. Too much the hope he has ruined her with, the impossibility he made her believe could be real. And, disgusting in its selfishness, too much of the life he can never have.
"We love each other, and I know I won't change my mind. And it'd make the Ministry thing easier to deal with if we-"
"Stop," Remus begs softly, "Please stop,"
Dora stops talking. Which is uncharacteristic itself, and even more so because it's something Remus asked her to. What she had been suggesting had been so devastating that he'd just needed her to stop, but now the words and their meaning are out there, clanging silently around the kitchen.
He doesn't know what to do. For nearly a year and half, Remus hasn't known what to do about this, about her, but this moment is the most clueless he's ever felt. What is he supposed to say? How many more ways can there be to tell her no? How can he convince her to give up on him when she's so in love that she would suggest something like that?
He freezes, trying to calm himself, to stop his mind whizzing and his insides quaking. And then Remus realises what he's going to do. What tried to avoid time, but what he's always doing to her in the end: take the coward's way out. Walk away and leave her all alone.
He moves his eyes from the sunflower. There needn't be a goodbye, but he must tell her something. He has forced her to bear so much weight of turmoil and anguish, that he must make sure she is not carrying any more. Remus pulls his gaze up to her face. Her silly, beautiful, one-of-a-kind face. He owes it to Tonks, and to Sirius, to look her in the face when he tells her.
"You had no fault in Sirius' death," Remus intones seriously.
"I know," Dora says, staring back into his eyes, "But you've never told me that before".