"Remus, I'm pregnant."
Tonks had told him only days after their bloody transport of Harry from Privet Drive, and her words had hung over him like a swarm of Dementors through Harry's birthday and Bill Weasley's wedding and everything that had happened after: I'm pregnant, I'm pregnant, I'm pregnant.
She'd thought he'd be delighted by the news—she certainly was. It was rare that Remus saw her without a smile now, and she spent every night poring through the baby care books she'd borrowed from Molly Weasley, eagerly scribbling down the most important details. She seemed to have no doubt that their child would be healthy and as normal as any wizard baby born in the middle of a war could be.
But Remus wasn't so sure. He'd never known a werewolf to have a child the natural way; the packs grew their ranks by infecting their victims, not by reproducing. All he knew was that lycanthropy was incredibly contagious—could it be passed down from father to child? Had he just done the one thing he'd always sworn never to do, and condemn an innocent person to his own terrible fate? His own child?
Remus had no idea how he could have been so careless. The baby was going to be a werewolf, and Tonks, as its mother, would be forced to live the same itinerant, secretive life as Remus's own mother had so long ago. He knew only from pictures how vibrant and full of life Hope Lupin had been in the years before Remus was bitten—he'd always suspected that raising him had helped drive her to her early grave. He couldn't bear to think of the same thing happening to Tonks.
Maybe the child wouldn't be a werewolf—maybe lycanthropy could only be passed through blood and not DNA. He or she would still have to contend with having Remus for a father; Remus had been able to keep his condition quiet until he was well into adulthood, but his child would not have the same luxury. They would spend their life ashamed of him, hiding their parentage as Remus had once hidden his disease…he couldn't bear to think about that, either.
Tonks wasn't going to get rid of the baby; he hadn't even bothered asking. But Remus knew he couldn't stick around to see the fallout from the birth, whatever it might be. No; he had to leave, Tonks and the baby would be better off without him….
One August night, hours after Tonks had fallen asleep, Remus stood at the foot of the bed they shared, packing his things up hastily into a rucksack. They were staying with Tonks's parents—Remus knew that his new in-laws had never approved of their marriage, but they'd graciously allowed him to live with them all the same. They would take great care of Tonks and the baby; they didn't need him there at all.
Remus had decided he'd go off to find Harry and his friends—he knew they were on some sort of mission given to them by Dumbledore, and he knew they could use his help far more than Tonks. It wouldn't be hard to track them down; they only knew of a few safe places for them to hide. Remus knew many more…even if they couldn't reveal their mission to them, he could help keep them safe—and if Harry was really fulfilling Dumbledore's last wishes and going off on a quest to defeat Voldemort, what could be more important than that? It only made sense for Remus to go after him; they were going to need an experienced wizard by their side.
"Remus?" Tonks mumbled suddenly from the bed, reaching up into the air as if to grab him. Remus froze, everything within him going tense. If Tonks realized what he was doing and begged for him to stay, there was no way he'd be able to leave her. I have to….
"Dora," he said, his voice weak. "I have to go. The Order needs me—I have to go help Harry, Dora, okay?"
"Mmm," she groaned, rolling over. "Okay. Goodbye, Remus."
She didn't understand—if she were more awake, she'd be remorselessly interrogating him on why he was sneaking off in the middle of the night. He wasn't going to allow her any more time to come to; he had to leave now.
He zipped up his rucksack and threw on his travelling cloak, pausing when he reached to door and turning back to the dark, motionless silhouette of his wife. He didn't know when he would see her again—there was a chance that he never would.
"I love you," he whispered, hoping that she was conscious enough to hear. Then he crept down the stairs and out of the house, never once allowing himself a moment to look back.
