This chapter is set in March of Order of the Phoenix, and owes a bit to Lupin's Pottermore bio, written (obviously), by JK Rowling. All rights belong to JK, I'm just playing her sandbox.
One
It's eleven days since she saw him. Eleven days since they'd had that stupid argument and she'd blurted out how she feels about him, sort of, but it hadn't been anything like how Tonks imagined saying it. When she pictured telling Remus how much she likes him, they'd been happy and relaxed, on the back porch at Grimmauld or in the pub. In reality, she and Remus been cold and tired stuck in a poky attic. Remus said the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard, and she'd snapped at him. He'd been flummoxed and mortified, and that had made Tonks more irate, and she'd snarled at him to shut up. They hadn't said a word for the rest of the watch. That was eleven days ago now. Tonks seen him twice at meetings and he's ignored her. Then the full moon came, and Remus disappeared like he usually did. She'd been half-tempted to come over the morning after the full moon- that'd put the cat among the pigeons- but she knew that that would be cruel. And she could never be cruel to him.
That was Thursday night. It's Monday now, so Remus has had long enough for him to recover (Tonks asked Sirius, so she knows that for a fact). Tonks has rushed from to Grimmauld Place in her lunch hour, knowing that Remus is often here at this time. He's mostly lived at Grimmauld for the past few months to keep Sirius sane. Babysitting Sirius isn't always a fun job, but of course Remus does it without complaint, because he's helpful and selfless like that. He wouldn't see hanging out with his best friend as a duty, even if that best friend is tetchy and surly and banned from leaving his house. Sirius has been in a mood for the past week and has mostly shut himself away in Buckbeak's room. Which in this case is helpful, as it means Tonks can talk to Remus without Sirius getting in the way.
Automatically, she heads through the drawing room and kitchen to the back porch- their place, where she and Remus used to meet up to chat. Well, Tonks realises, it was Remus' place first. She'd turned up there one morning and invaded. Is that how all this looks from his point of view? She hadn't thought of this like that before. Perhaps she should have done. She certainly should have thought about it before snapping at him that night at the Avery's. That comment about Sirius was bonkers, but "If you weren't too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice," hadn't been a helpful response either. Tonks has replayed the scene over and over in her memory during the past eleven days, and she can't help but reckon that she came off presumptuous. Realistically, has Remus done anything to suggest that he fancies her? He's so bloody vague it's hard to tell. What if Tonks has been projecting her own feelings for him as feelings he might have for her, but doesn't? What if she's been misreading for months? But if she has, Remus needs to tell her that. They need to clear the air, and if he isn't interested she'll back off.
Tonks' stomach lurches when she sees him sitting on the porch step, elbows on his knees. He's got his back to her, leaning against the right-hand side of the French window, but Tonks can imagine the thoughtful, concentrated look on his face. He'll be musing on something clever and important that she'll never have thought about. Remus is always teaching her stuff, not in a patronising professor way. He knows about loads of subjects, so Tonks learns stuff by osmosis through chatting with him.
Tonks slides open the left-hand door of the French window and steps out onto the porch.
"Wotcher,"
Remus jolts, swivelling round. His jaw slackens with surprise, but his eyes are unreadable.
"Hello," he mutters eventually. Then he leaps to his feet and begins to mumble about being busy, so Tonks cuts in with:
"I want to apologise for the other night,"
"I need to go and-"
"I'm sorry I got angry, but it was such a daft thing for you to say, me falling for Sirius," Tonks tells him, unable to hide the snigger in her voice. It's preposterous to the point of funny, "You know that, don't you?"
"I know, I'm sorry. It was ridiculous. And insulting. I apologise if I upset you," Remus rattles off, nodding. He apologises far too much. Tonks suspects he feels comfortable when he's apologising to somebody. And if he needs to make himself feel more comfortable right now, he must be flustered by her bringing up the other night, which must mean….what? This man is completely frustrating.
"It's fine," Tonks tells him, then adds hurriedly, "I was wondering if you want to go for a drink tonight,"
Remus stares at her as if she had asked if he wants to pot-holing in Transylvania tonight.
"I asked Mad-Eye and he says you're not down for any jobs, and my Mum's coming over to see Sirius, so you won't be needed here," Tonks recites. She's done her homework on this.
Remus goggles for another couple of moments, then regains himself and says hoarsely, "That's a kind offer, although it would be inappropriate for you to be seen out with me,"
"Since when do I care about appropriate? It's just a drink. No pressure, no expectation, just a drink," she promises. Well, perhaps some expectation. Maybe. Hopefully.
"I can't," Remus murmurs.
"Why not?" Tonks demands, trying to keep the whine out of her tone.
"Because I promised that I'd stay away from you,"
"Promised who?"
"Myself," Remus answers. Tonks wasn't expecting that.
"Why?"
Her brain is whirring. If he's promised himself he'll stay away from her, that must mean that he doesn't want to stay away from her. He wants to be near her and be with her.
"It isn't a good idea for us to be seen together," Remus re-iterates, squirming.
"I'll change my face," Tonks suggests.
"No, thank you. Thank you for inviting me, but I can't," he decides, in a business-like tone that's bordering on cold.
"For goodness sake, it's just a drink to clear things up," Tonks snaps. One conversation to work out where they stand, and then they can go back to being friends.
"Please don't be angry with me," Remus says in a small voice.
"What if you came over to mine, then?" she improvises, "Same conversation, just inside at my place and not in public,"
They need to talk at some point. They can't leave it like this, especially now he's said that he promised himself he'd avoid her. So many questions, so much needs clearing up, so much could happen, Tonks reckons, if only Remus didn't have all those unnecessary rules for himself. She could show him that he needn't be so hard on himself. She could help him loosen up and have more fun. Perhaps she could make him happier.
He says nothing.
"Remus," Tonks prompts.
He closes his eyes, grimaces and says softly, "Alright,"
Tonks could almost cheer. She wants to say thank you thank you thank you but instead, she chirps, "Brilliant. I'll be home from work about six, so I'll see you at seven? Here, I'll write down my address,"
She scrabbles in her pockets for a pen and a piece of parchment, but all she can find is a crumpled receipt from Florian Fortescue's. Remus, looking surprised at what he's doing, takes a quill and a notebook out from his inside jacket pocket. Of course he carries stuff like that, Tonks observes fondly.
"Thanks," she mutters, taking the both and jotting down her address, "You can Floo in, I don't mind,"
Remus makes a non-committal shrug.
"Brilliant. I'll see you tonight," she chirps.
"Yes," he says. He meets her eye for the first time, and Tonks is sure she can see the trace of a smile in his expression.
"Brilliant," she repeats, then adds, "Bye," and escapes back into the kitchen before he can change his mind.
Bloody Camelot, he's nervous. It's years since Remus has done this with anybody, even longer since with a woman. He doesn't know what to wear, or what to bring, or what to say, or what she wants from this evening, or why he agreed to go in the first place. He should have told Tonks no thank you, he's got work to do and he doesn't need to talk things through with her because there's nothing to say. Usually Remus finds restraint easy; he's had years to perfect self-control. But this fascinating, bemusing witch who is too young and too successful and too whole for him makes him lose grip on that restraint. And the worst part is that letting himself say yes felt glorious.
It's ten past six and he's standing in front of his wardrobe, trying to choose what to wear. That isn't an easy assignment, as Tonks has seen every shirt-jumper-jacket-trousers combination he owns. Remus remembers Draco Malfoy and Marcus Flint sneering audibly at his ragged clothes as they passed him in the Hogwarts corridors. That didn't bother him then, although now he wishes that he had another outfit or a different shirt. Anything to look like he's made an effort and that he cares about tonight. But he doesn't have any outfits for special occasions, or enough special occasions to warrant having a different outfit for. The only other clothes in Remus' wardrobe are his pyjamas, and the threadbare jogging bottoms and hoody he hauls himself into the morning after a full moon.
Dejectedly, Remus sits down on the bed and sighs, as thoughts about what Tonks is going to wear sneak into his mind. Will she stay in the skirt and oversized t-shirt she was wearing earlier, or will she put on a dress or…whatever it is that someone like her would wear for a whatever-this-is. He imagines Tonks looking into her wardrobe like he is now (her wardrobe is probably about twenty times the size of his), choosing an outfit she reckons he'll like, pulling her t-shirt off, slipping out of her skirt…stop it. Stop picturing her like that, he tells himself sternly. He's a dirty old man, and presumptuous at that, to entertain the idea that she would pick out an outfit while thinking about him. It'd be laughable if it wasn't so rude. He should stop being pre-occupied with Tonks, and start concentrating on his own damn clothes. Although he knows that if it was possible to make himself stop thinking about Tonks from willpower alone, he would have done it weeks ago. He promised himself he would on Ash Wednesday, but fate- or, more accurately, Order observation rota- intervened, and he'd said that idiotic thing about Sirius, and now here he is, fretting about what to wear when he goes to her flat tonight, and everything that'll follow after.
What about a tie? Remus considers. There's four hanging on the end of the wardrobe rail- one black, one grey and two navy. He's needed them for a few jobs in the past, and he wore them when he was teaching. At least it'll look like he's tried, even if his range of ties only come in funeral colours. Remus picks the navy one with red dots on, which he reckons means that he should wear a red shirt. He has two, which are equally battered; one's too large and one is too small. Remus holds them both up to establish which one looks smarter. Maybe the oversized one. He pulls off his jumper and puts the red shirt on over his black t-shirt, and then the tie. Looks himself over in the mirror. Remembers that Tonks likes bright colours, so she might like the red. Tells himself not to think of that.
Remus wonders if wearing a navy tie means he should wear navy trousers, or if that's too matchy? This is the sort of thing Sirius knew about, Remus recalls, back when they were teenagers. But Sirius cares less and less about what he looks like these days, and there was no way Remus was going to tell him about what's happening tonight. Padfoot had been sulking in Buckbeak's room when Tonks turned up earlier, and when Sirius emerged later in the afternoon Remus had had to pretend that nothing interesting had happened that the house that day.
Remus shrugs, changes into a pair of black corduroy trousers, clips on his braces and loops them up over his shoulders. Difficult to go wrong with black. Now onto the next problem- what to take. He's got to bring a present to show he's grateful, and so if it all goes horribly wrong then at least he's been polite. Flowers and chocolates are both too like boyfriend presents, so obviously must be avoided like Dragonpox. Besides, Remus doubts that Tonks is the sort of person who likes flowers. They both like a drink or two, but Remus is concerned that bringing a bottle will look like he's trying to get her drunk. No, that's ridiculous. She's young but she isn't a child. He's got tipsy with her himself, although every time that's happened Padfoot has been there to finish off a third (or, more realistically, half) of the bottle. Padfoot, who, Remus remembers, Molly had got herself into a state about regarding his drinking, and from whose cellar she had confiscated all the alcohol. Mrs Weasley had shoved the bottles of wine into the bewildered hands of every Order member who'd been present. Sirius shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled that Remus would buy him more, which Remus had done. Padfoot's drinking wasn't as much as a problem as Molly insisted, and Remus was surely allowed to give his best friend some fun. Bringing the confiscated bottle to Tonks' would be fun too, perhaps.
Remus heads down to his kitchen and opens his wine cupboard, which is also his breadbin, his fruit bowl, and his crockery cupboard. There are three bottles from the Grimmauld Place buttery in there: two white and a red. Remus chooses the white. Harder to go wrong with white, he reasons, especially as Tonks is likely to spill something. He laughs out loud at the thought. That's the strange thing- inamonsgt all the worry and the guilt, he finds that he can't help but look forward to tonight.
He loves chocolate. She's heard him claim it's for Dementors, and it's true that chocolate is a remedy for having seen one, but no amount of Dementors warrants the amount that Remus keeps in his pockets and in the kitchen cupboards at Grimmauld. He acts all wise and grown-up, so it makes Tonks smirk to see sensible Professor Lupin dig a chocolate bar out of his jacket and start munching away. She wasn't sure whether to buy a bottle of wine for tonight. Remus likes a drink, but she doesn't want to seem as if she wants to get him drunk. He probably reckons she's been too pushy about this whole thing; he might not even come, she's probably been kidding herself about him this whole time. The infuriating thing about being a Black is that it's very easy to come across as arrogant regardless of what you're actually feeling. Anyway, chocolates had seemed a safer option.
Tonks opens the box of Wizochoc and sets them out on the table, then wonders if it doesn't make sense to have an open box of chocolates out before he gets here. Will it look like they've been on the coffee table, open, for ages? She shuts the box. She's tidied up the front room a bit, but tidying charms tend to flick things back in neat but unexpected places- shoes in a neat row beside the bed, for example, when frankly Tonks much prefers them lumped by the door. She's on the early shift at work tomorrow, so faffing around looking for stuff at five AM won't be ideal. As a result, the front room looks half-heartedly tidied, but Tonks supposes that that's better than nothing. Besides, Remus knows her well enough not to imagine that her flat will be spotless. On first impression, he comes across as neat and punctual, but he's more disorganised and fun than that, as the secret chocolate in his pockets can attest to. Remus' handwriting is scrawling and spidery and he often has ink smudged on his hands and cuffs. He sleeps late, so he sometimes needs to rush to get to places on time. It's a pain for anyone who's on early morning Order duty with him. Tonks thinks it's adorable.
In the bedroom, she changes out of the oversized Green Day t-shirt she'd been wearing under her Auror robes all day, and into something more fancy (although knowing Remus, he probably won't notice). Tonks finds herself tidying the bedroom with her wand, even though Remus is unlikely to go in there tonight. The thought makes her feel flustered, and Tonks snaps at herself internally to stop being so silly. She can't act like a giddy little girl or a randy teenager tonight. She'll have to be sophisticated and composed and say clever things…. but in all the time she's known Remus, she's never tried to be or do that. He'd be bemused if she started acting different. For goodness sake, she thinks, she's over-complicating this. She'll just have to be herself and talk to him as normal. Remus is usually dead easy to talk to. But the kind of talking she wants- needs- to do with him tonight isn't the type of talking they usually do. Tonks gets the impression that Remus hasn't done this type of "talking" in a while. Or at least only with Sirius, which is a whole different kettle of worms. How bizarre of Remus to say that thing about her falling for Sirius, when it's Remus who has the complicated romantic history with him. Was he jealous? Has she been misreading everything catastrophically wrong and Remus still fancies Sirius? Oh God…but no, they can't, they've had months living under the same roof. If anything was going to happen it would have done by now, wouldn't it? Sirius Black isn't one to wait around. Plus, he's been teasing her about Remus for weeks, which would be a bonkers thing to do if Sirius still fancied him. Yeah, Tonks tells herself, there's nothing going on between the two of them anymore. No way.
She sits down on the bed and glances at the clock. Six-fifty-three. She can't wait 'til Remus gets here, partly because she's always eager to see him, but mostly because once he's here she can stop waiting and wondering and worrying. She sighs. He'd feel awful if he knew how nervous he makes her.
Remus apparates behind a post-box at the end of the street, straightens up and heads down the road towards the address Tonks scribbled down for him earlier: Flat 1B, 74 Creskey Road. It's a Muggle flat (Auror safety regulation) and Tonks is on the ground floor. She mentions her neighbour, Mrs Alam, who has a bad back and a fake posh accent. Tonks sometimes performs impressions of her. It's one of the many things she does which Remus finds himself chuckling too hard at. He isn't sure if tonight he'll let himself laugh more tonight, since nobody else will be around, or less, since nobody else will be around. The front door of Number 74 is right on the street with no pathway leading up to it. Remus hesitates for a moment, knowing that it isn't too late to turn around and apparate back home to safety, where there are no fascinating, bemusing witches who delight him and daze him. But he promised that he'd come tonight, and the feeling of being delighted and dazed is irresistible, and Remus jams his thumb into the little box marked 1B. It buzzes with an ugly, electronic sound (Arthur Weasley would be pleased). The door takes forever too open and the door opens far too quickly, and suddenly she's there in front of him. She's wearing the denim skirt she was in earlier, but she's put on a different top. It's blue and sparkly and Remus wishes he wasn't noticing how tight it is.
"Wotcher, Remus," Tonks chirps, "Didn't expect you to come in the door,"
"I didn't want to be rude," he says. His voice sounds hoarser than usual, so he clears his throat, but Tonks starts speaking at the same time:
"Nonsense, I told you that you could Floo in. Actually, never mind, whatever," she gabbles. Remus stops coughing and they stare at each other uneasily in the silence than follows.
"Well, you're here now. Come in. Umm, this is the hall to the flats, and there's the stairs. Obviously. And here's my door," Tonks ploughs on. She leads Remus inside the building, points unnecessarily at the white door with 1B on the front, and pushes it open. She seems jumpy, Remus observes. Why wouldn't she be? She's bringing a werewolf into her home.
"So! This is my flat," Tonks continues, ushering him inside. Remus finds himself in a bright, cramped lounge. The walls are turquoise, although they're barely visible under the posters plastered across them. Dragons, Quidditch players, football teams, bands, a calendar which is turned to January even though it's now March. The wall beside the window is covered with photographs, although Remus is too far away to see them properly (probably for the best, he reckons. Seeing pictures of Tonks as a child or at school would make him feel even more troubled about how young she is).
"Is it shoes off?" Remus asks, noticing the pile of boots and trainers lumped by the door. Possibly the most shoes he has ever seen in one place.
"No, you're fine,"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah,"
"This is nice," he notes blandly to the room, then takes the wine bottle out of his pocket and offers it to her, "I brought this,"
Tonks looks surprised, although Remus puts that down to her general jumpiness this evening.
"Thank you, that's kind, I'll get glasses. Make yourself at home. There's chocolates on the table. Wizochoc, your favourite, help yourself," she rattles off, then disappears through the door.
Remus casts a cleaning spell on his shoes in case they got any mud on them outside, and goes to sit down on the sofa, which is half-buried under mismatched cushions. He drums his fingers on his knees while he waits for Tonks to come back, considering if wearing a tie was such a good idea. Now he's here in her colourful, homely living room, he suspects that the tie looks too formal and he looks a stick-in-the-mud. Although surely Tonks knows him well enough to know that he is.
There's a clink as Tonks comes back into the living room, holding two glasses between her fingers. She taps the bottle with her wand to uncork it, then holds it out to him and says, "You do the honours,"
Remus takes the bottle and pours what he hopes is a respectable amount into both glasses (having drunk with Sirius for the last few months, he's lost track of what counts as a respectable amount). He feels less apprehensive now he's made it through the ordeal of ringing the doorbell and walking into Tonks' home, although befuddlement fretfulness are still pinballing around inside his stomach. He isn't used to feeling nervous around women. He isn't used to feeling any of this around anybody.
"Cheers," Tonks says when he puts the bottle down. She sits down beside him and clinks their glasses together.
"Cheers," Remus echoes, and takes a sip. It's good wine (always is if it's the Blacks') and Remus takes another gulp to avoid having to come up with something to say. He's good at awkward small-talk, but now he's drawing a blank. He finds he doesn't want to look at Tonks much, which is a surprise given that in the last few weeks he's had to force his eyes away from her.
"How was work today?" he attempts weakly.
"Okay. Mad-Eye turned up to give everyone a scare," she shrugs.
"Right," Remus nods, wracking his brain for anything to add. He's spent whole nights on Order duty with Tonks, gossiping and joking, and mornings on the back porch swapping anecdotes and random bits of information. The Venn diagram between things Tonks knows about and things he knows about doesn't have much overlap, so he always learns things with her. Except now Remus can't remember any of what those things are.
"Wanna play a game?" Tonks asks.
"Alright,"
She often says that, he remembers: Let's play a game, tell me a story, come and watch this. The childishness of it should make him uneasy, or at least irritated, but instead he finds it charming. He goes along with it without question; playing her silly games and telling her daft anecdotes and watching whatever it is she wants to show off about. He's captivated by her and he knows it, and he wishes he didn't like it so much.
Tonks stanches the bottle from the table and studies the back of the label.
"You know how wine always has really wanky stuff written on the label? You have to guess what it is," she orders.
"The ingredients, you mean?"
"Yeah, and all the adjectives and serving suggestions they put on,"
Another topic to talk about. Excellent. Remus makes a big show of taking a sip of wine and swilling it around his mouth. He pretends to consider for a while and then says, "Pear, grapefruit, lime and gooseberry flavours. Perfect for enjoying outside with friends and eaten with a fish salad,"
Tonks stares at him, then checks the label. "You cheat, you read it before," she says, giving his shoulder a shove.
Remus falls sideways, sniggering, then continues reciting, "It's Sauvignon blanc crafted from grapes grown in Chile's sunny Central Valley, where the grapes are ripened to crisp and fruity perfection. Contains 12% alcohol, best served chilled,"
"How do you even remember that?"
"I'm good at lists," he shrugs.
"You should have been an Auror, you'd pass Memorisation Training easy," Tonks tells him.
"I think the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures might have a problem with that," Remus replies.
Her face falls abruptly. "Don't say that,"
Remus cringes at himself. He didn't mean to get all doom and gloom on her. It's just that people have suggested before that he could have been an Auror. Kingsley's alluded to it a couple of times, Frank Longbottom brought it up many years ago- even Mad-Eye mentioned it once. And Remus must remind them every time that it's impossible. He wasn't trying to sound self-pitying- it's just his standard response when the suggestion's brought up.
"Sorry. I didn't mean it," he mumbles, wincing. They were messing about and being daft and he'd got complacent.
"Why are you so self-deprecating all the time?" Tonks demands.
"I'm sorry, I just..." I don't know what's happening here and I'm disorientated by you as always. You baffle me, and it's intoxicating.
Tonks folds her arms, glares at him, and says through gritted teeth, "You're special, Remus. I wish you admitted it. I wish you knew it,"
Her words are kind (and untrue) but her tone is irritated.
Remus doesn't know how to respond, so an uneasy silence settles. He shouldn't have come. This was a senseless idea. Tonight's mystifying and uncomfortable and will probably end in humiliation. Why did Tonks invite him over, then? She's not stupid- she's wiser than he is when it comes to all this. Didn't she know that it was always going to end badly?
Remus clears his throat again.
"Tonks," he begins, glancing at her then abruptly looking away, "What's happening? What is this?"
She puts her wine glass down and suddenly kneels up, shifting closer so she's near enough to touch him.
"Whatever you want it to be," Tonks says softly, fingering the seam on his shoulder. He's momentarily shocked by her abrupt intimacy and tenderness. He can feel her breath on his face, faster than usual. She looks utterly lovely.
"I don't know," Remus murmurs, dazed that the atmosphere is changed so fast. She's close, and she's watching him intently, and all Remus' clothes feel too tight; his tie seems to suddenly be garroting him. He needs another drink. He should reach for his glass again to move away from her, but he finds he doesn't want to. He wants to stay this near to Tonks' breath and her mouth and her rapidly rising and falling chest, and the index finger that's rubbing tiny circles on his shoulder. He wants to be closer. Experimentally, Remus tilts his face up towards hers. She blinks, then she smiles, and he moves nearer. Shuts his eyes. His mouth touches hers. Remus freezes. Then his body relaxes, leans into it, feels how soft her lips are, how they taste of the wine she just sipped, how they- bloody Merlin- move fractionally against his. They're kissing, he's kissing her, and Remus opens his eyes to check that this is real and it's actually happening. It's when he does that that the reality of what's happening rams into his off her, you pervert, a voice in his head hisses, this is wrong, this is disgusting, take your mouth of hers right now.
He yanks his mouth away, so quickly that Tonks topples forwards. Remus leaps to his feet and backs away, stumbling towards to door.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I should go,"
His heart's pounding again, out of shame and panic this time. How did he just do that? What was he thinking? He wasn't thinking at all, controlled by the urges in his body. He's spent years being better than that; controlling himself, dampening down lust and rage and wolfish savagery. How could he have forgotten? How could he let himself do that to somebody he cares about so much? Tonks is going to hate him now. She'll tell everybody how he forced his mouth on her, slobbered like an animal, because he is an animal, a freak, a vile, grotesque werewolf.
"What? What do you mean? You can't leave," Tonks is saying. She's on her feet, walking towards to him. She looks beautiful in the half-light, Remus thinks, then hates himself for thinking that.
"I'm sorry," he repeats breathlessly.
"Don't be sorry," she says. Then she smiles and adds, "Do you know how long I've been waiting for that?"
She holds her hand out and slips it into his. She leans up to his ear, and her lips brush his skin as she whispers a single word in his ear: "Stay,"
She wants him to stay? She'd been- what did she say? - waiting. Waiting for him to kiss her? No, he must have misunderstood her. She couldn't want that. Nobody would ever want that.
Tonks's fingers grope for his other hand. Her face is reddened- surely from anger, not a blush? Remus wishes he knew what to do, but shock and shame and bewilderment have slowed his brain.
"Do you remember what I said that night at the Avery's. About who I'd fallen for?" Tonks asks. Her tone is coy, almost embarrassed.
Miraculously, Remus finds that his voice is still working. "I remember," he croaks.
You'd know perfectly well who I've fallen for, if you hadn't been too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice. That's what he believed he heard- later, Remus assumed he must have misheard her, or she'd been so furious with him for that comment about Padfoot that her words came out wrong. Because what Tonks couldn't be implying what it sounded like she was implying.
"You want me to say it, don't you?" she half-smirks, "Or are you being dense?"
Dense, dumbfounded, disconcerted. And somewhere beneath all that unpleasant and perplexing fog, Remus is desperate for her to say it, to hear those words come out of her mouth and confirm everything, give him everything.
Tonks exhales heavily. "It's you. I have fallen for you," she says, and beams, blushing more than ever, "I've been thinking about you for ages now and it won't go away, and…I'm just crazy about you,"
Joy. Utter bliss. Remus wants to jump and cheer and hold her close, kiss her again, keep gazing at the way Tonks is smiling at him, for him. And then, like a Pavlovian reaction, the horror rams into him. The knowledge that this is wrong and sick and vulgar, that he doesn't deserve this and he shouldn't wreck everything for he
Remus swallows and manages to whisper, "Tonks, you know what I am?"
Her grin vanishes, replaced by a determined seriousness. "I know,"
"A werewolf," he clarifies.
Now it's the determined seriousness' turn to vanish, replaced this time by anger and Tonks lets go of both his hands.
"Merlin's balls, can we have five minutes tonight where we don't talk about you being a werewolf?" she snaps, stepping back.
"It isn't going away,"
"If I tell you I now that I know that, and I've thought about it loads and I don't care- will you shut up about it?" Tonks pleads, and then she's back against him, gripping his hands tight as she looks up into his eyes, "Please?"
Later, Remus will curse himself for this moment. For giving in to her eyes and her promises. This, he will reflect when he's frozen and hungry and surrounded by werewolves, is the moment he should acted like an adult and told Tonks no, he can't and he shouldn't and he has no right to do this to her.
But what he does do, is laugh. Partly at her, partly at how unexpected and fabulous this all is, but mostly at himself and his utter lack of how to navigate what's happening.
"I'm sorry, I haven't done this for a while," he chuckles.
Tonks squeezes his hands tighter. "Will you shut up about it now?"
Abruptly, Remus realises that she's nervous. She doesn't understand what's happening either. Tonks told him that she'd fallen for him, but he hasn't said anything back. Hasn't said it back, and it's made her apprehensive.
"Yes. Yes, alright," Remus blurts, snickering again at the thought that she's brash and loud and a Black and an Auror, and yet somehow he has made her nervous.
"I feel the same. Lately I've been thinking about you, and feelings thing for you, that I haven't felt for anybody for a long time. But I didn't know if you could ever, or that I should..."
He can't bring himself to look Tonks in the eye, but he sees her face lighten from worried to relieved, flattered and elated.
"I think you should. If you want to. And for the record I could ever,"
She reaches up and fondles the knot of his tie, then skews it so that it's crooked over his shirt buttons. It's such a Tonks thing to do and Remus grins. It feels as if his heart is swelling inside him.
"I've never met anybody like you," he murmurs.
"In a good way or a bad way?" Tonks answers dreamily, and she moves closer so their knees are touching, and her chest is skimming his. She's tipping her face up to his again, reflecting his grin.
"A good way," he breathes, and presses his lips to hers once more.
His lips are slightly dry and he isn't moving his mouth and her nose has bashed his a couple of times. It feels absolutely incredible. He's hesitant, kissing softer when she presses harder, as if he isn't sure that he's allowed to return the pressure, as if he suspects she'll change her mind. As if.
After several long, gratifying moments, Tonks feels Remus' mouth pull away gently. She wants to stop him, to sucker her lips to his or hold her hand to the back of his head to keep him clamped against her. But he unlocks their lips and moves back and, reluctantly, Tonks opens her eyes. Remus is smiling at her, looking both pleased and perplexed. For a moment she gazes at him and how lovely his smile is. Although now it's definitely her second-favourite thing his mouth does.
"I need a drink," Remus announces.
Tonks giggles and tugs him over to the couch. She sits down and puts her hand on his knee while Remus picks up his glass and takes a sip (drinking is now demoted to third-favourite Remus' Mouth Thing). When he puts the glass down he turns to her with that same joyful-baffled look on his face, and does a so-what-do-we-do-now shrug that's totally adorable.
"Come here," Tonks laughs, and pulls him into a hug. She feels Remus' arms wrap around her back. They've hugged plenty of times before, but not like this. She's never been able to run her palms across his shoulder blades and down his back or sift her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. For a while they hold each other, and she enjoys Remus' warmth, the soft curliness of his hair and the thrill of being so close to him for so long.
Eventually, Remus sighs against her and says, "Do we need to talk about this?"
He can be such a girl. Tonks rolls her eyes, but only because he's looking over her shoulder and can't see.
"I don't know, do we?" she replies.
Remus moves back so he can look her in the eye. "I thought you said you wanted to talk tonight?"
"Fine," Tonks sighs theatrically, "What do you want to talk about?"
She's trying to sound bored because he's suddenly got her worried. What if he says he doesn't want this or he knows that she shouldn't? Please not the werewolf thing. She'll wring his neck it's the werewolf thing.
"I don't think we should tell anybody about this," Remus says quickly.
It's werewolf-adjacent, but if she submits she can steer him off this subject. "If that's what you want," Tonks agrees.
Remus does his pleased-perplexed face again and says, "I still don't understand what any of this is,"
Maybe, Tonks guesses, flirting will puzzle him enough to stop him digging further down the Werewolf Wormhole.
She pouts. "I was about to tell you that before you interrupted by kissing me,"
For a moment, Remus looks panicked. Okay, she notes, he's not ready to handle flirting yet.
"No, I'm joking, I wanted you to. I want you to," Tonks correctly hurriedly. She tilts forward to give him a reassuring peck on the mouth, "See?"
"I keep doing the wrong things," Remus sighs. He downs his wine and picks up the bottle to pretend to pour himself another glass. Tonks giggles, even though she wishes he'd stop saying that.
"No, you don't," she corrects.
"Are you sure?"
"Course. I told you, I think you're so special, you're bloody fantastic,"
He's the strangest and wisest and best guy, and he's hers. She wasn't misunderstanding because he was feeling the same way all along. Tonks squeezes his shoulder affectionately.
"Is there anything else you want to add to this Talk?" she asks.
"Not for now,"
Thank Merlin for that, Tonks thinks.
Out loud she says, "Okay," and adds reluctantly, "We can revisit later, if you want,"
One thing she knows about him for sure is that he requires patience. And patience requires compromise, and compromise means being open to having this conversation again at some point, or points realistically. Just please none of the werewolf thing. It's only an illness. It isn't important, It doesn't mean anything and it doesn't affect how Tonks feels about him. She wasn't lying when she said she's thought it through loads, and however many times she's questioned herself about it, all she can conclude is that it doesn't matter. He isn't a werewolf, he's Remus and he's magnificent.
"Thank you," Remus mutters, but Tonks barely lets him finish the word before kissing him again, harder than before, and wet and hungry. She's been hungry for him for months. She wants Remus to take the hint and kiss back with the same fervour, although he still seems hesitant. Tonks feels his hand cup her elbow. That's a very Remus-y thing to do, she reckons, to go for the elbow instead of waist or hip or face or shoulder. He's such a quaint old-fashioned gentleman. Tonks giggles, and topples away from him, and Remus giggles back, and they're both laughing too much to kiss properly.
Later, he'll struggle to explain the rest of what had happens that evening. They talk- not seriously anymore, just interesting or trivial things- and chuckle and drink and kiss and eat the chocolates. Remus finds himself lounging on the sofa with his back against Tonks' chest, while one of her hands strokes his hair and the other fiddles with his braces and shirt buttons (thank Merlin he wore a t-shirt underneath; the thought of Tonks' fingers slipping onto his bare chest makes him feel almost dizzy). She leans down every so often to kiss his cheek and jaw, and sometimes Remus cranes his neck so her mouth can meet his. He keeps laughing- partly because she makes him laugh, partly because he feels awkward and partly because he's giddy that this is happening. This is more than he ever dared to hope for.
Unexpectedly, there's a shriek from the bedroom. "Bedtime! Beeeedtiiiime!"
Tonks groans. "That's my clock," she explains, then yells, "Shut up!"
There's a pause for a moment, and then the high-pitched voice starts again, "It's your bedtiiiii-"
"Put a sock in it or you'll end up in the bin with the old mirror!" Tonks shouts.
"Early shift, early shift! Nymphadora needs to go to bed to be up for the early shift!" crows the clock's voice. Remus glances at his watch- Merlin's beard, it's ten o'clock. His jacket's ended up draped on one side of the couch and the bottle and the box of chocolates are empty on the coffee table.
Remus feels Tonks prod him up so she can get off the sofa. "Sorry about this," she mutters, "Hold on one sec,"
She gets to her feet, takes a couple of steps towards the door, then turns around and pecks him on the mouth. She's grinning mischievously, and Remus can feel himself looking back with a dopey smile on his face. He doesn't reckon he's stopped beaming for hours. Then the clock starts wailing again and Tonks huffs and leaves through the living room door. Remus hears her stomp into her bedroom and start growling at the clock.
He sits up properly and straightens the tie, which Tonks has been loosening and fiddling with all evening. Remus pulls his jacket on and stands up, feeling peculiar. Reborn, almost.
"Are you going? You don't have to," Tonks asks as she re-appears in the doorway. The disappointment in her voice is so obvious and so flattering that it almost hurts.
"You're on earlies," Remus points out. That's a five AM start for her, he knows- she often moans about it when she's downing coffee at Grimmauld Place of an evening.
"Yeah, but…" Tonks mumbles, then looks away as she says, "It's alright if you want to go,"
Of course Remus doesn't want to go, and he almost tells Tonks that. But he stops himself, not wanting to suggest anything improper. It's only been one evening, and he doesn't want to take advantage of her hospitality. He doesn't want to take advantage of her in any way, ever.
"I've enjoyed tonight very much," he says softly.
She steps towards him, "Same. Tonight's been special,"
Tonight's been more than he ever anticipated. More than he deserves, certainly, and so Remus doesn't dare to ask the inevitable question.
Tonks cuts in and asks it for him: "Do you want to do this again?"
Relief floods Remus, but he makes himself reply politely, "Yes. That'd be nice,"
"Tomorrow?" Tonks asks eagerly. She wants to do everything they've done tonight, again, with him, tomorrow?
But he can't. He's got commitments which he can't miss, because nobody can know that this is what's happened tonight. What's more, his best friend needs him.
"I'm with Sirius the next two nights," Remus explains.
"What about Thursday?"
"Thursday sounds wonderful," he nods. He dislikes hyperbole; "wonderful" is not an exaggeration. "Wonderful" is exactly what tonight has been and how the offer of doing it all again sounds.
"Same time?"
"Yes, alright,"
Tonks runs a finger down his shirt buttons. "I'll see you at Grimmauld before then, probably," she says, and she sounds dreamy again.
Remus has never been able to afford to be dreamy. He doesn't want to order her about, but he doesn't want to risk anything either. "Remember what I said about not telling anybody. Please," he insists.
"Of course not. Come on, I'll walk you out,"
Tonks slips her hand into his and leads him through the door into the building lobby.
"Thank you for having me," Remus says.
Tonks turns and leans back against the wall. "Thanks for the wine,"
"Thanks for the chocolate," he grins, closing in.
"You're welcome," Tonks mumbles, and before Remus can reply she's kissing him, wrapping her arms around him so that his elbows are pinned to his sides. Her kiss is hard but tender at the same time- he's learnt tonight how many glorious, contradictory ways of kissing she has, and how many things her kisses can show. He's tried to be respectful and chaste, but she's made that difficult. Remus loves that she's made it difficult.
Tonks moves her mouth an inch away from his and breathes, "Bye,"
Remus can't resist stamping another peck on her lips, before she lets him go and opens the door.
"Goodbye, Tonks," he says, stepping outside.
"See you soon. Oh, and Remus?"
"Mmm?"
She's standing in the doorway, gripping the side of the doorframe with a hand as her face splits into a grin.
"You don't always have to wear a tie for me, you know,"
It isn't even very funny, but he chortles about it all the way home.
Thanks for reading. This one has been knocking around my head for ages, although it turned out to be very difficult to write and it hasn't turned out entirely how I wanted it to. What do you reckon?
