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Picture Book

If Tonks and her boyfriend had one thing, it was differing sleeping patterns. She, used to early starts at the Ministry, counted anything after seven o'clock as a lie-in. He, on the other hand, slept late most mornings. He was a voracious late-night reader, seldom got to sleep easily, and often woke up in the night. He'd never had consistent employment, so had rarely had the need to wake up early (he'd told her once that he was late to lessons every day the first week he taught at Hogwarts, because he wasn't used to having to be anywhere for nine o'clock). In the days before the full moon, he woke up even more during the night and slept even later in the mornings.

It was Sunday, two days to go before the moon. Tonks had never paid attention to the phases of the moon before, but in the last few months it had become a countdown in her head. Kingsley brought it up tactfully at the end of Order meetings- "Remus, will you be available that day?"- and Tonks was astonished at how Remus replied every time with such dignity. Sirius would loiter on the stairs fidgeting as he waited for the next delivery of Wolfsbane ("It's the only thing I can do to help anybody," he snapped). Podmore fussed over Remus until Sirius told him to shut it. Tonks tried to avoid joining in on the fuss but it was difficult not to when her boyfriend suddenly turned ashen or started muttering about back pain and faintness. There was always that countdown, and now they were together it played on her mind constantly. Two days now.

The radio had announced that it was half past nine. Remus was likely to be in bed for the foreseeable future, so Tonks had crept downstairs to make herself a coffee (she'd brought a packet over) and investigate his bookshelf. Along with Remus' record collection, which she'd explored already, There were books on Defensive Curses, Kappas and Indonesian Carnivorous Plants, a selection of battered Muggle novels, a Bible, and a thick leather-bound album. Intrigued, Tonks pulled it from the shelf and opened it. The first page had two photos stuck in: a wriggling baby, and then the same baby with two men. The bloke on the left was a much younger Remus. His hair was longer with no trace of grey, he wasn't so lean and he was sporting a fluffy moustache that didn't suit him at all. The other man looked like Harry, which meant it must be James. Tonks had heard it mentioned countless times that Harry was the spit of his father. It was certainly true because the man was an older copy of Harry, except that his nose was longer and his glasses were square instead of round. Remus had his arm around James' shoulders and they were both smiling, although James' was wider. Tonks had never seen Harry smile like that. Speaking of Harry, he must be the baby. Cute little bugger. James was trying to make him wave to the camera, but Harry was squirming too much, so James passed him to Remus, who looked awkward holding the baby. Tonks realised with a jolt that the Remus in the photo is around the age that she was now. What was he like? Would she fancy him if she met him at that age? What would he think of her?

A woman appeared on the following page's photos. That must be Harry's mum. Sirius had been right- she was very pretty. Baby Harry was less fidgety in his mother's arms. There was Remus again, lying on the carpet beside Harry building blocks into towers, which Harry was delightedly knocking over. The Remus in the photo looked more comfortable playing on the floor with Harry than he had done holding him. He didn't seem bored with the repetition of rebuilding towers. There was a caption written at the bottom: GH 11/6/81.

Tonks turned the page, and there was Sirius, leaning on his motorbike. He was wearing black boots, tight leather trousers and a grubby red t-shirt. His long dark hair was tied up in a messy bun. Merlin's toenails, he'd been a sexy bastard, hadn't he? James was back in the next photo. He was trying to sit on the motorbike's handlebars while Sirius irritably shooed him off. James kept sniggering, and Sirius was looking increasingly annoyed. There was another boy in the picture too, whom Tonks knew must be Peter Pettigrew. The traitor. She hadn't thought much about what the man who betrayed the Potters would look like, but she knew she hadn't expected this. He was ordinary. Short and round and smiley. James and Sirius were ignoring him. Remus had told her that they did that sometimes. It wasn't out of malice, he'd assured her, but simply out of James and Sirius being so wrapped up in each other. That, Remus theorised miserably, was why Peter had allowed himself to be led away.

Remus had kept all the photographs of Sirius, Tonks noted. Her mother had tried to get rid of all their photos of Sirius after he was sent to prison. Had Remus attempted to do the same? Or had he always wanted to keep hold of happy memories, even if he thought that Sirius betrayed them?

After a few more Harry pages, Tonks got to the Potters' wedding. There they were kissing outside the chapel, cutting their wedding cake, dancing together in the dusk (had Remus taken all these pictures? If he had he was a good photographer). Peter and Sirius stuffing their faces at the buffet, James and Remus clinking glasses, Sirius with an arm hooked around Lily, smushing a kiss to her cheek while James rolled his eyes. There were photos of other people there too (were Harry's grandparents in here somewhere?). After the wedding (well, before, as Tonks had worked out that she was going backwards in time), there were three pages of photos of Remus and Lily. Jumping off a wall together, legs flailing, disappearing onto the other side, and then climbing back over as Lily leaned across to ruffle Remus' hair. A pair of photos that must have been taken at the same time because they were both holding cameras up to their eyes. Lily flicking through 12"s in a record shop. Remus draped on the sofa with a newspaper (he still sprawled like that now when he was reading). An arty photo of Lily wearing an enormous knitted jumper and stirring a mug of tea. Tonks hadn't realised they'd been such good friends. Why hadn't he mentioned it?

Now they were at Hogwarts. These photos must be almost twenty years old, no wonder they were so faded. Peter was climbing a tree. James was messing about with a Snitch, letting it fly away from him before lurching gracefully forwards to grab it back. Shirtless Sirius was brushing his hair while flirting with his reflection in the dormitory mirror. Remus was asleep in an armchair (he was so cute) while Peter tried to pull a book out from between his arms. James, Sirius and Peter in their animagi form- James' stag was beautiful. Some of the photos had dates and captions, and the boys got younger as the pages went on. Remus was a taller teenager than Tonks had imagined, and surprisingly chubby in the early photos. His curly hair was in an awful bowl-cut style in those pictures, although thankfully by third-year he was wearing it shorter and more like James. His grin was never as wide or wild as the other Marauders'. Tonks supposed that, like all teenage gangs, they must have thought they were exactly on each other's wavelengths. Although in reality it'd be difficult to find four more different boys. She smirked at the photo of Professor McGonagall shouting and shoving her hand out to demand the camera was handed over. Then Sirius was back, leaning out of his dormitory window with a cigarette. Remus carrying a wobbling James on his shoulders (James was in shorts and a t-shirt, but Remus was wearing his Hogwarts uniform. He looked more comfortable in his school robes than he had done wearing a suit at the Potters' wedding). Scrawny James in Quidditch gear hanging upside-down from his broomstick. Peter covered in grass as he rolled down the hill by the lake.

After the Hogwarts pages, Tonks came to a photo of an even younger Remus. He was slumped in a deckchair on the beach wearing a straw hat low over his eyes while idly turning the pages of a newspaper. A caption in childish handwriting read: Porthor 1969. Tonks smiled; he'd be nine years old and was already acting like an old man. In the next photo, Remus' head was thrown back in excitement as he ran out from the sea. Water was dribbling from his fingertips and his brown hair was plastered to his face. He was wearing those high-waisted 60s swimming trunks and on his left arm there was what looked like a Quidditch captain's armband, though Tonks knew it must be covering the wolf bite. Remus' mother was in the next photograph. He mentioned her occasionally now, although Tonks had never seen a picture of her before. She was sitting in the deckchair licking an ice-cream, and she waved when she saw that she was being photographed. She looked a lot like Remus; curly hair and square jaw. Tonks wondered what Mrs Lupin would have made of her. She'd probably have disapproved of her hair and piercings and tatoos, but hopefully would have approved of her son's girlfriend being an Auror. And she looked like she'd got a sense of humour. The last photo on the page showed Remus and another boy and girl making a sandcastle. The little girl was trying to build a turret, the boy was patting the sides firm, and Remus was sticking flags into the top. Remus had explained to Tonks recently that he was allowed to play with other kids, but only for a couple of hours, and only children he met on holiday and wouldn't see again. Tonks imagined that he built castles with these kids on the beach for an afternoon before his parents led him away, worried that the boy and girl would ask about where he went to school or what was under the armband.

Tonks turned the pages, and there Remus was on Christmas Day, then kicking a ball in the park, then Cardiff Cathedral 1966, then clutching his teddy while drinking a glass of milk. He was pallid and roly-poly, and even then his clothes were shabby. There was a navy polo-neck jumper that appeared in three years of photographs, until the sleeves barely came down to Remus' wrists. But he was usually smiling and it looked like they'd had a happy family life. The last page's caption was written in adult handwriting: Remus' Birthday, March 1963. He was three. Almost all the pre-Hogwarts photos had been of Remus alone, occasionally with his mother (his dad must have taken the pictures), but these photos were full of dancing toddlers and their parents. He'd had friends- Merlin's beard, she realised, this was before he was bitten. Tonks felt abruptly panicky, like she was back in 1963 and desperate to beg Lupin Senior not to get involved in the werewolf interrogation. Three-year-old Remus was giggling on the floor surrounded by wrapping paper with his frizzy hair spilling out crazily from his head (why were mothers so weird about their kids' first haircut?) and he didn't know. Tonks had to warn them, but she couldn't warn them. What had all the kids and parents in the photos thought when Remus suddenly started getting poorly a couple of years later? Did he miss them when he moved away? He was so little. He must have been terrified.

The mantelpiece clock clanged half past eleven. Crikey, she'd spent nearly an hour going through the album. She should probably check if Remus was awake and if he wanted a cup of tea. Tonks flicked back through the album, watching him age (the album stopped when he was twenty-one. Tonks reckoned that there was some symbolism in that), then snapped it shut. She slid the album back onto the shelf between As You Like It and Elixirs, Salves and Liquid Remedies of the 18th Century: Volume 4, and walked back upstairs. Remus' cottage was cramped, crooked and creaky, and the stairs quaked if you ran up them too fast, which Tonks almost always did. She got halfway up before remembering that she was supposed to be being unobtrusive this morning, and tiptoed the rest of the way up to the bedroom.

"Wotcher," Tonks whispered, creeping back in. Remus was curled up under the covers, face half-pressed into the pillow, "You awake?"

He didn't respond. Tonks pattered across to the bed, taking care not to knock anything over, and slipped in behind him. Remus' back felt warm and solid. Everything about him was solid, even when he was sickly. Tonks leaned over his shoulder to look at his face. It seemed different when he was asleep, although she couldn't explain why. Younger, perhaps? But not as young as the man who had played with baby Harry, or the boy who'd carried Peter Pettigrew on his shoulders. Peaceful? But Tonks knew that he rarely slept peacefully. Remus' pyjama t-shirt only half-covered the werewolf bite; the lower teeth-marks were visible from underneath his t-shirt. The bite became more sensitive and inflamed around the full moon, and this morning it was an ugly shade of scarlet. Poor bastard. He was so affable and honourable, and all he'd got in return was pain and hardship. Everything had been horribly unfair: the attack, the transformations, not being able to hold down a job or a house, losing all his friends. Remus had so much to give but the world kept taking. It was up to her to sort things out then, wasn't it? Tonks crooked her neck round to kiss his cheek.

"You'll be okay now," she murmured, "I promise I'll look after you,"

Truth be told, she liked looking after him. Tonks wouldn't have counted herself as a nursing type of person, but caring for Remus when he was ill was…empowering. It gave her a rare feeling of feminine protectiveness. Sirius insisted on being in charge during the night of the full moon and the morning after, but last month he'd allowed Tonks to take over Remus Recovery Duty once she got home from work in the evening. For months she'd been itching to buy him new robes and shoes that weren't falling apart at the sole. She insisted on paying as much stuff as she could (which wasn't much, and they didn't go on dates), until Remus got cross with her. Perhaps when their lives weren't so busy and unpredictable she could treat him to theatre tickets and jazz concerts. Because if anybody deserved to be spoiled it was Remus Lupin.

"You're going to be fine, Remus. You're not on your own anymore," Tonks said aloud. He'd got Sirius back, and Harry and the rest of the Order. And he'd got her.

"It's all going to be okay," she added. Tonks wasn't sure if she was talking to the man in his thirties in bed beside her, or the teenager falling asleep over his homework, or the kid on the beach who'd been allowed to play with other children for once, or the toddler at his birthday party before everything went wrong.

She was going to make it right.


Thank you for your time. If you want more stories about our favourite nerdy werewolf and his gang, please take a look at my story An Autumn. Thanks.