Warnings for angst, swearing, hate crime and sexual assault.
If: Winter
December
If they'd have lived, Lupin would have snapped his book shut, dropped it onto the pillow, and walked into the living room.
"Let me take over," he instructed over the sound of the baby wailing.
"It's alright. I'm going to take him for a walk," Tonks would have said. Teddy would still be having trouble sleeping, and she would have been pacing around the flat with him in her arms for what felt like hours.
"Why?" Lupin would've asked.
"Because he's not going to fall asleep in here, is he?"
"Give it another couple of minutes," he suggested.
"That won't work. He's too stressed out in here," Tonks would have insisted, smoothing Teddy's hair as he squirmed unhappily, "I'll shove him in the pram and take him around the block,"
"But it's dark," Lupin pointed out.
She would have groaned. "For God's sake, Remus, get a grip. We'll be fine,"
"I'm not comfortable with you taking him outside when it's dark-"
"We can't keep him locked away forever!" she would have growled, "Do you want him to turn out like Sirius?"
"I don't want to lock him away. I took him to the high street yesterday. I just know that at night there's a greater risk," Lupin would have replied in a maddeningly factually tone.
"It is not night. It's half past seven," Tonks retorted.
"It's dark, and under cover of darkness it'll be easier for-"
"Eight months have passed! The Ministry know that they've caught all the Death Ea-"
"- not all of them,"
"Yes, because the Malfoys are going to turn up to murder me while I'm pushing a pram down the street," Tonks would've mocked.
A beat. "Please don't say that," Lupin would have answered quietly.
"I'll only be out for ten minutes,"
"I don't-"
"I'm sick of him screaming like this every bloody evening. It's been weeks now, I'm going out of my mind, and I think that that's a greater risk than being on a perfectly safe street for ten minutes, so will you just shut up!" she would have spat.
Another beat would have followed. They'd have starred at each other. Remus would have looked hurt, and Tonks would have grimaced internally for snapping at him. But it was all exhausting, and Remus was making it harder.
"Give him to me," Lupin would have instructed softly.
"Why?"
"Because you're tired and you're losing your temper and that's going to make it worse,"
He knew that she knew it. Teddy was getting stressed, and their arguing was only going to disturb him more.
"I'm losing my temper because you're being difficult," his wife retorted.
Remus's resolve would have cracked. "Will you hand Teddy over because I'll be able to get him to sleep!" he'd have barked. Couldn't she, just once, do what he asked? Was that too much to ask? She knew that he was good at calming Teddy down.
"Wow, thanks for the reminder that you're such a better parent than I am," Tonks would've shot back.
"I didn't say that,"
"You might as well because it's obviously true,"
"I don't want to argue with you. I want to get Teddy to sleep. Let me fix it this time and we can talk about it later," he said, holding his arms out. Glaring at them both, Tonks would have handed Teddy over. She'd have tried not to listen as her husband told the baby to stop fussing and be good.
"I know, I know. I know you're a grumpy boy. Let's have quiet now, shall we?" he'd have muttered, pacing. Lupin wouldn't have admitted it often (and certainly not right now) but in any situation, having Teddy in his arms made him feel better. Teddy seemed to like it too- it was true that Lupin was the best at getting him to sleep, though he felt guilty now at having snapped it out loud at his wife.
Teddy wouldn't have stopped crying, but his bawls would have subsided slightly.
"Good boy. That's nicer, isn't it? Nice and peaceful, good boy," Lupin would have continued. Then he'd have looked up at his wife and offered, "I'll stay with him for now. You go and put your feet up,"
Tonks would have stared at the carpet and not moved.
"Dora?"
"I'm sick of it," she murmured, "I used to think I was lucky that you're such a great dad, but now it's…now I just feel like I'm rubbish at this,"
The first few months, watching Remus and Teddy together had been adorable. They were both crazy about one another, and at first made Tonks feel fortunate and proud. But nowadays it would have been getting infuriating. She'd have started to feel guilty about working so much. Had she not been around enough to bond with Teddy properly? But to Tonks it would have felt like they had bonded. She hadn't struggled to connect with him. She'd loved him since before he was born. She was gut-bustingly proud when his hair changed or when he smiled, or when he'd first started sitting up a few weeks ago. When he smiled at her, or reached for her when he was upset, or curled up on her lap, she'd have known that that was his way of showing that he loved her back. But then something like this would happen- more to do with skill than with love. Remus had the skill and she, clearly, didn't.
"You're not rubbish," Lupin would have responded.
"Yeah, I've been telling myself that for weeks but he's making it clear he doesn't agree,"
"It's sleeping he doesn't agree with, not you,"
"But you can always make fall asleep," Tonks would have said glumly.
"Perhaps I bore him to sleep," Lupin suggested.
"And you're better at bottles and getting him in the pushchair and all of that,"
"That's only practical stuff," he shrugged. Teddy would have quietened down enough that Remus would have risked stopping pacing.
"Most of having a baby is practical stuff!" she huffed, "I'm not saying I reckon he's, I dunno, rejecting me. But he knows, like everybody else does, that you're way better at all of this than I am,"
She'd do the poppers on Teddy's clothes up wrong. She found his bottles difficult to navigate, and now he was on solids she kept getting his foods mixed up with each other. Nappy-changes were a minefield. On the occasions when Tonks did manage to send the baby to sleep she'd end up trapped with him on her chest, which was cute for a bit but inconvenient when she had stuff she needed to get done. She loved Teddy more than anything, though she didn't love being a mother.
That would have put Lupin on the defensive. "What do you mean everybody knows? Nobody's said that, have they?"
Tonks would have elected not to sulkily point out that he had literally just said it then. "Not out loud,"
"And even if they did, when do you ever care what anybody thinks?"
Tonks would have known that her husband meant this to be kind because he was trying to make her smile. But it wouldn't have worked because there was a difference between "anybody" and her family: "I care what you and him think,"
Lupin would have sat down on the bed and gestured for her to follow which, hesitantly, Tonks would have done.
"I think that Teddy and I are lucky to have you," he would have murmured, knocking his knee against hers affectionately, "You're doing well enough,"
You're doing well enough, Tonks would have thought, was a very Remus statement. Partly because it was typical of him to avoid superlative. He rarely used words like amazing or fantastic. Tonks knew too, that even if her husband had been prone to words like that, he wouldn't have said them then. He was honest with her, and the truth was she wasn't amazing or fantastic at parenting. You're doing well enough must have been Remus' honest assessment. While that was reassuring, Tonks had never seen herself as the kind of person who'd settle for "enough".
Lupin would have stroked Teddy's hand as the baby's glassy eyes gazed up at him. "Here, he's quiet now. He's sleepy," he would have offered.
"I don't want to wake him," Tonks would have mumbled.
"You won't. Come here,"
He'd have shuffled closer, holding Teddy out to her. Tonks would have noticed that he was using his reassuring Professor Tone.
"Are you sure?"
"That's my line," he'd have corrected. That was an old joke between them- he'd asked it repeatedly when they were first together, "And I believe the correct response is yes, I am sure,"
"Actually, it's yes, of course I am sure you idiot," Tonks would have answered. She'd meant it as response to what he'd said about it being his line, but Lupin would have elected to interpret her words literally, and would have put the baby into Tonks' arms before she had time to stop him.
"See?" he'd have said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder, "You are doing well enough,"
Tonks didn't like to see herself as someone who would settle for "enough". But, she'd have supposed, it was a start.
January
Harry would have been sitting on the couch at the Burrow, Teddy on his lap, while Ginny made stars shoot from the end of her wand for the baby to catch. Teddy's pudgy hands would have clapped around the sparkles and he'd have made a little "Ah!" sound, pleased with himself.
"Seeker skills already," Harry would have noted proudly.
"Can't wait 'til we can get him a broom," Ginny corroborated.
"How old does he have to be?"
"I think officially it's five, but I was using Charlie's old one probably before I could walk," Ginny would have shrugged.
Harry would've visualised the photograph of himself as a baby whizzing around on the toy broomstick Sirius had bought for him, and the letter his mother wrote saying how much he liked the toy. Perhaps toy broomsticks were godfatherly presents. Harry didn't know much about being a godfather. Teddy was pretty much the first baby he had ever met, so he was still getting the hang of how to hold him, talk to him and play with him. Despite being the youngest in a large family, Ginny was a natural with babies. She wasn't officially Teddy's godmother, but everybody called her that, and she seemed to know exactly how to connect with him. Harry loved that (he had elected not to mention that there was something quite Mrs Weasley-ish about how good she was with the baby).
"Is Lupin a good flyer?" Ginny would have continued.
"He's okay," Harry shrugged, "He didn't play Quidditch,"
"Not everything revolves around Quidditch," Ginny would have scoffed, impersonating Hermione's voice. She'd have felt slightly guilty about mimicking her friend like that, but it made Harry laugh.
The fireplace would have flared up then, flames abruptly sparking up and licking along the sides. Remus Lupin would have come spinning into the grate.
"Speak of the devil," Harry would have muttered.
Lupin would have slowed to a stop, grabbed the edges of the fireplace to steady himself, and said, "Hello, you two,"
"Hi," Harry would have said.
"Happy New Year," Ginny chirped.
"Happy New Year," Lupin would have echoed, climbing out of the fireplace.
Ginny would have been about to ask if Lupin had had a good time at the party, although she was interrupted by the fire flaring up again, and Tonks clattering into it.
"Wotcher, everyone. Welcome to 1999!"
"Happy New Year," Harry would have greeted, as Ginny got up to hug Tonks hello. Lupin would have stepped over to Harry, and Teddy would have reached his arms up towards his father.
"Look who it is!" Harry would have said to the baby, "It's your daddy,"
Harry would have cringed at himself. He felt like when he spoke to Teddy his voice jumped to the overly-bright pitch of the kids' TV presenters Dudley had used to watch on a Saturday morning.
Lupin would have taken picked up Teddy, hugged him tight, and stamped a kiss on the baby's cheek. He would have been an uncharacteristically tactile parent- Tonks would have doubted if there had ever been baby boy who was so often hugged and kissed by his father as Teddy was by Remus. Over the last few months Lupin would have come marginally more open touching his wife in front of other people. He'd put the occasional hand on her elbow or shoulder, and when she stroked his arm or back, he didn't push her away. Sometimes he called her Dora in front of others, which he'd rarely done before. It would have been different with Teddy. From the start, he wouldn't have cared who could see. Showing that he was attracted to his wife would have felt embarrassing, but loving on Teddy felt natural and beautiful, even if other people were watching.
"Hello, Ted," he would have whispered, "I've missed you,"
Teddy would have spotted Tonks and started wriggling, so Lupin would have passed him over to her.
"Wotcher, mate. Happy New Year," she'd have said, jiggling him, "Were you being good for the Weasleys? Or were you being trouble?"
"He was no trouble," answered Harry.
"Got them all fooled, have you?" she'd have asked Teddy, eyes narrowed. She'd have pretended to throw him onto the sofa, which would have made Teddy squeal excitedly (and was, obviously, totally different to dropping him, which she'd done a few times since he was born).
"We took him up to the paddock to watch the fireworks over the hill," Harry would have continued.
"They were when it got dark, not at midnight," Ginny chipped in.
"Yeah. He went to sleep at- what, Gin? Eight?"
"Closer to nine," Ginny would have shrugged, "But he only woke up a couple of times,"
"Thank you much for having him," Tonks would have said.
"No problem. It's cool. How was your night?" Harry would have asked.
"Awesome," Tonks would have grin.
"Exhausting," Lupin would have sighed at the same time.
"Don't lie, you loved it," Tonks would have needled.
"My recollection of events after midnight is rather hazy," he'd have explained to Harry and Ginny, "I haven't been that drunk in years. My wife's a bad influence on me,"
Tonks had persuaded him to come out with her friends on New Year's Eve. He'd met her mates from school a few times over recent months and, well…they were nice. They were funny and interesting. He enjoyed seeing Tonks laugh and yelp when she was with them. He liked how they played with Teddy. But he had no idea what they made of him. Tonks would have claimed endlessly that they loved him, and Levi wanted to go to the Quidditch with him, and Aisling's brother had a book he'd enjoy so he should go over to borrow it from him. Lupin wouldn't have been convinced by any of this. Tonks was their friend. They'd know each other since they were eleven. He was a werewolf. They'd married quickly, in the middle of a war. Surely her friends were suspicious. At best concerned, and at worst horrified, and Lupin wouldn't have blamed them for that. But Dora was so defensive about him that it was hard to tell exactly what her friends thought about him. He didn't know what she'd told them about him and he didn't want to know either.
"Your wife would also like to point out that she's seen considerably more drunk than that with Sirius," Tonks would have interjected.
"Possibly," Lupin conceded, and everybody laughed.
"Where's everyone else? Never seen it so empty round here?" Tonks would have asked. Teddy would be babbling and waving his arms cheerfully as she held him.
"Mum, Dad, Percy and George have gone for a walk," Ginny explained, "They'll be back soon if you want to hang around. Charlie's still asleep, and Ron and Hermione are either continuing the argument they had last night, or making up from it,"
"How's George doing?" Lupin would have asked.
Harry and Ginny would have looked at each other. "Not great," Harry would have said.
"It was an effort to get him to go for a walk," Ginny would have murmured dejectedly, "He didn't even want to see Teddy, and he usually likes that,"
"It's weird, it being a new year," Harry added. Harry wasn't prepared for a future of freedom, and now he was hurtling towards it. After all that had happened, it would have seemed childish to admit that the idea of an empty future scared him, but it did. Ron and Hermione said that they understood, but fate hadn't weighed on them like it had Harry, so he knew that they didn't really get it. Becoming an Auror wouldn't have felt like much of a choice for him. It was a way to keep doing what he knew: fighting. It was route out of making a decision, rather than a way forward into the future.
"If he ever wants to speak to somebody who wouldn't claim to have experienced anything so horrendous, but who knows what it's like to feel like you're the only one left, remind him that my door is always open," Lupin would have said in a solemn tone.
Ginny would have noticed Tonks look at him adoringly. She didn't like that; it was too similar to the way Fleur gazed at Bill, and Ginny didn't like to consider Tonks and Lupin as remotely similar to Fleur and Bill.
"When are you back to work?" she'd have asked, changing the subject.
"Tomorrow," Tonks would have answered, "Which I fair enough considering I've only been in two days this week, but Merlin's pants I'm dreading it. Gonna miss you, aren't I, mate?" she'd have mumbled into Teddy's ear as he tried to climb up onto her shoulder.
"What about you, Harry?" Lupin would have asked.
"Tuesday,"
Harry would have guilty that Tonks had to go into work even though she had a baby, whereas he'd been given nearly a fortnight's holiday. The Auror department treated him with kid gloves, which was frustrating and humiliating. He wanted to be working as hard as everybody else, but the Ministry would have insisted that they didn't want to overburden him.
"You'll be at home though, right?" Harry clarified with Lupin, hoping to deflect the conversation away from himself.
"Until the trials start, yes," Lupin would have confirmed. The werewolf trials were due to start in the last week of January, and it was likely that Remus would be needed most days. The trials had been looming over him for months, and now he felt half afraid about them, and half desperate to get started so that he could get them over with as soon as possible.
"So these last few weeks, and the next couple until the trials start, will be what it's going to be like long-term," Tonks explained, "Me working in the week and Remus at home on baby duty,"
She'd have been saying that repeatedly recently, to try to get used to the idea that this was going to be their normal. This would be the family life she'd thought about so much over the past year, and that she had known would work itself out if she went ahead with the pregnancy. Except now the damn werewolf trials were going to ruin their normalcy for weeks. Tonks wouldn't have been able to admit out loud that it was bloody typical- the werewolf thing always getting in the way of her and Remus' happy life together.
"Someone here'll be willing to babysit during the trials," Ginny piped up.
"Yeah, your Mum's having him on Wednesday and Thursday for the first week, and- when in the second week, Remus?"
"Wednesday,"
"Right, Wednesday. Anyway, we can talk about it when she gets back. Thanks for having Teddy last night too, that was really kind of you two to give up your new year,"
"Wouldn't have done much anyway," Harry shrugged. Ginny would be going back to school in a few days so he'd much prefer to time spend at home with her. Besides, a new year wouldn't have necessarily seemed like good news. It had felt like truly saying goodbye to the war- goodbye to those who had died. Fred Weasley would never live in 1999. The new year hadn't felt like an occasion to go out and celebrate.
"That's a nice jumper," Ginny would have noted, glancing at the red polo-neck Lupin was wearing.
"Oh. Thank you," he'd have responded, surprised, "It was a Christmas present,"
It would have been from his wife. Anticipating (correctly) that Teddy would be bought hundreds of presents from their friends, his parents had decided to only get him a few gifts. That seemed a bit mean to Lupin, though Andromeda assured him that on Christmas morning Teddy would be swimming in rattles, balls and cuddly toys. That had left Tonks and Lupin with an unexpected amount of money to spend on presents for each other. Tonks would have given him a load of new shirts, jeans and jumpers (surprisingly, she'd bought him the type of clothes Remus would actually choose for himself, not the sort of clothes he'd expect her to choose for him).
Nobody had complimented Lupin on this clothes for years. He didn't entirely know how to respond and he didn't want to start a conversation about it though, so he'd have shot a warning glance at his wife to communicate that she wasn't to elaborate. He'd have been embarrassed a few days earlier, when they'd been visited the Burrow on Boxing Day and he'd been doing the washing-up with Hermione, and she'd asked him why he was wearing a wedding ring now. Lupin had winced, knowing that he should have anticipated that Hermione would notice that. He'd have explained in a mutter that it was a Christmas present. Hermione had mused that that was a nice present for Tonks to have bought him, and Lupin hadn't corrected her. The truth was that it was actually his present to his wife. When they'd got married, Lupin had dismissed the need for a wedding band for himself, but after he'd left and come back Dora had brought it up as a sign that he hadn't taken their wedding seriously, and that he thought their marriage was disposable. It'd barely been mentioned since, but the hurt on Tonks' face would have stuck with Remus. It was odd to buy a present for somebody else which he'd be wearing all the time, so the ring would have been a cheap one from Marks & Spencer. Lupin knew that that wasn't the point- the symbolism was what mattered to her.
Back in the living room on New Year's Day, Lupin would have been relieved that Ginny Weasley was not the sort of girl to notice jewellery. Tonks would have taken the hint from Lupin's expression that he didn't want to discuss his new jumper further, and would have busied herself making faces at Teddy.
"Don't tell Mum someone else has been getting you jumpers or she'll start dithering that she hasn't made you one year," Ginny warned.
"Yeah, what's that all about? She made Teddy about five and none for us!" Tonks would have protested jokingly.
"That's them coming across the hill now," Harry would have interjected, craning to look through the window.
Tonks would have leaned over too. She'd have seen the three tall Weasley men, short plump Molly beside them, and two more figures walking next to her. "Who's that with them?"
"Dunno," Harry would have shrugged, "Gin, c'mere and see,"
He'd have taken his glasses off and rubbed them clean on the fabric of his shirt, as Ginny stood up to go over to the window.
"That man and girl both wearing lime green and walking towards our house with our parents? I suspect that might possibly be the Lovegoods," she teased.
"Cool," Harry would have shrugged.
"Luna Lovegood?" gasped Tonks, "I've wanted to meet her for ages! You all talk about her all the time!"
"You have met her," her husband would have pointed out.
He would have avoided specifying that they have met Luna Lovegood fighting at the Ministry, and at Hogwarts last Summer and the Summer before. And in the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts they'd met at multiple funerals.
"Not properly," Tonks would have corrected, "Haven't got to have a proper chat with each other and find out if she's as bonkers as you all say,"
"Good bonkers," Harry insisted hurriedly.
Tonks laughed. "Is there any other kind?"
"Remember when she stood up in Defence and told you that Cornish Pixies were actually a trick of the light?" Ginny would have said to Lupin, "She literally thought they were a figment of our collective imagination,"
"And that was hardly the strangest comment she came up with," Lupin would have added.
"See? She sounds awesome,"
"Well, they're getting towards the garden now," Harry would have warned, "So you're about to find out….".
February
First, it would have been hate mail. It started arriving in Tonks' Ministry pigeon-hole once a week or so. All letters and parcels to the Ministry were tested for curses, though not for content. Especially nowadays, when any information was deemed useful. The stuff that turned up in Tonks' pigeon-hole wasn't dangerous. It would have seemed random to anybody else: a packet of dog biscuits. A patch of grey fur with blood streaked in it. Crudely detailed cartoons of a girl and a werewolf fucking. Sometimes the girl in the cartoon was drawn as frightened and in pain. Sometimes she was smiling. Always, she had pink hair.
One week a thick black collar arrived, and the following week a smaller one arrived, with a note: For the little mutt. That would have been the only one which would have upset her. The others would have hurt, and would have made her angry, but bringing Teddy into it would have made Tonks want to rip someone's throat out. She'd have thought of Mad-Eye barking at her to keep her head, keep focused. Tonks would have shoved the collar and the note into the back of the bottom drawer of her desk, but she could still it in her mind's eye. For the little mutt. It would have played on her mind so much that she didn't finish her work on time, so was home late. Tonks would have dumped her bag on the living room floor and gone straight to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine. Remus would have been feeding Teddy his tea, but she'd have ignored them both, facing at the wall as she tried not to cry. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair. Their son was funny, lively and intelligent. He wasn't a werewolf and he wasn't dangerous, and they'd had three years of war to stop people believing that kind of bullshit. Had it been enough? Was this what Teddy's life was going to be like? Had the Remus of two Summers ago been right, had bringing his baby into the world been an act of selfishness and vanity, with no thought to the life of the child? Was this hate going to follow them always?
"Are you alright?" Lupin would have asked.
"Yeah. Fine,"
"No, Teddy. Tea first and then Mummy cuddles," Remus would have told Teddy, who was squeaking excitedly. They were both chuckling, which would have made Tonks feel worse.
Lupin would have known something was wrong right away. Usually his wife wanted to fuss over the baby the moment she came home.
"Dora?"
"I told you, I'm fine," she'd have snapped, and burst into tears.
Lupin would have sprung out of his seat and stepped over to her. "Has something happened?"
"No,"
"Can I-?" he offered, reaching out to touch her.
Part of Tonks would have wanted to let him, to curl up with her husband and baby and hide from the world. Remus made her feel protected and safe. But being with Lupin would have reminded her of what people thought and said about him, and that bastard who'd sent her the hate mail. And it would have made her want to tell him, and Tonks would have known that telling him was out of the question. Lupin have been calmer and more contented over the last few months than Tonks had ever seen him. A weight was off his shoulders now the war was over. He was getting healthier and less scrawny. And he was the world's best daddy. Remus had once told her once that it wasn't her responsibility to fix him, but Tonks liked to believe that the baby was going a little way to. How thought Teddy was the most wonderful person in the universe- and if Remus had made someone so precious, then how could he believe himself disgusting and dirty and all those awful things? Tonks hadn't broached the subject with him, but at times she thought that that was what was in his head. So she couldn't tell him about the collar and the cartoons and the dog biscuits, because it would send him back to being how he was before: I'm too dangerous, you shouldn't be involved with me, I'll make you an outcast, marrying me will put you in danger, we can't possibly have a baby because of me. The werewolf trials had made him a little fragile lately, and this would send him over the edge into panic and guilt and misery.
"I wanna be on my own," Tonks would have mumbled. For the little mutt. For the little mutt. He wasn't a dog, he wasn't an animal and he was not a werewolf. Even if he was, werewolves were people, just people who got ill. But that wasn't what the trials were making them seem like. The werewolves on trial barely wanted to be human. They were all that public had always believed about werewolves, but worse.
Tonks topped up the glass. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband's face flicker with concern and she realised that arriving home in unexplained tears and immediately hitting the bottle might be worrying. Fabulous, now her husband thought she was a secret alcoholic.
He wouldn't have said that. He'd have answered: "I understand. Just tell me if there's anything I can do to help or make it better,"
Tonks would have supposed that she was lucky she had a husband who knew about wanting to keep emotions close to the chest. He'd have been using his Professor Tone again. It sometimes infuriated her, although now she thought how understanding and patient he was. She was still getting the hang of not pestering him about stuff he didn't want to talk about, and she still put her foot in it all the time.
"There's nothing,"
What was she supposed to say- not be a werewolf? That's all he'd ever wanted, and she'd been the one always telling him that it didn't matter. She'd thought she could never be ashamed of Remus or of Teddy, but surely this feeling was shame. Surely now she was letting it matter. She was ashamed that she didn't want to look at her husband for fear that she'd blurt out the truth about the messages coming in the post. And then Tonks felt more ashamed that the messages had that power over her.
From the corner of her eye, she'd have seen her husband's expression flicker with disappointment. When he spoke, however, his tone would have been achingly gentle: "Alright. I'll be here if you need me,"
Tonks would have sloped off to the bedroom, shoved her headphones on and plugged them into her battered Muggle cassette player. She turned the volume up to maximum and shut her eyes. When Remus put Teddy to bed in his cot half an hour later, she pretended to be asleep, although she knew that her wet tears were a giveaway.
A couple of weeks later, she'd have been walking down Diagon Alley when a female voice had snarled, "Were-bitch," at her and howled. It would have happened so fast Tonks would have barely registered it, so she didn't have time to react. But not long after that, she'd have been in the queue at Dervish and Banges with Savage, when a figure would have shoved her against the wall and groped her bum and chest, his breath heavy in her ear. He'd reckoned without meeting two Aurors though, and within a couple of moments he was disarmed and in handcuffs. They'd given him a night in the cells for that. It had been humiliating and inconvenient, but not upsetting until they were handing him over to the guards in the Ministry cells, and the man had yelled after them down the corridor.
"Thought you'd enjoy it, love! So gagging for it that you'd fuck a werewolf!"
Savage would have glanced at Tonks out of the corner of her eye.
"Wanker," Tonks would've scoffed, pretending she didn't care. Then she would have gone upstairs to the toilets, and kicked the wall again and again, so hard that the dryer fell off the wall.
She wouldn't have told Remus that today she'd tried to surprise him by meeting him outside the courtroom and taking him to lunch. Before he emerged from the courtroom though, a couple of journalists would have wandered out, chatting. Tonks wouldn't have told Lupin that she'd heard have part of the journalists' conversation:
"- proved that it's clear they're a risk to everybody, and the register doesn't make a difference," one of the hacks said to the other.
"I don't suppose you could argue to have them euthanised because they're registered as Being as well as Beast. Locked away though, certainly," his colleague replied.
"That'll make it worse! Hoards of the pervy old brutes locked up together'll make them more dangerous,"
"They're dangerous enough! Imprisonment's safer than letting them all wander about unregistered, free to steal our food and attack our children!"
"They haven't mentioned children much yet, have they? Maybe they don't want to name the Muggle kids involved?" mused the female journalist.
"Whatever it is, it's going to be horrific, isn't it? Probably unimaginable what the bastards do when they get their hands on kiddie flesh-"
Tonks wouldn't have heard any more, because she would have turned around and punched the journalist in the face. He'd have recoiled and she'd have managed to quickly change her face and hair, and slip away. She'd legged it back up to the office, abandoning the taking-Remus-for-lunch plan. It wouldn't have gone unnoticed though, because later that afternoon she'd have been summoned to Kingsley's office. Tonks traipsed down to the Minister's department, one-quarter nervous and three-quarters defiant. When she reached Kingsley's office door, she'd have considered barging in but resisted the temptation, and knocked on the door.
"Come in," summoned Kingsley's deep, reassuring voice.
Tonks would have morphed her hair into a fringe- useful protection in case she unexpectedly burst into tears- and pushed open the door.
"A personal meeting with the Minister, I'm honoured," she'd have sneered. Kingsley would have been so busy over the last few months that the Order had rarely seen him.
"Take a seat," he'd have instructed, ignoring her hostile tone. Kingsley's wouldn't have had time to bother arguing. He needed to tell her to keep her temper around hacks over the next couple of weeks and stop being so defensive about Remus. Surely, Kingsley would have thought, Tonks knew that she wasn't doing her husband any favours. Lupin had never been the sort to want someone else to fight his battles for him.
Tonks would have stayed standing, and folded her arms.
"I want to get this over with," Kingsley would have sighed, "I'm not going to give you a formal disciplinary notice, though you can take this as a warning,"
"I'm supposed to be grateful for that, am I? If I was anybody else you'd give me a disciplinary or give me the sack. We all know you're not going to get rid of me,"
"No, I'm not," Kingsley acknowledged, "But I don't appreciate you attacking journalists,"
Wasn't there a mention of that in Auror training? If not, certainly in the contract. But HR paperwork would have been the last of Kingsley's concerns then.
"But he said-"
"I can imagine what he said," Kingsley answered calmly. He wondered why Tonks wasn't used to this by now.
"And you're one of the reasons why he can say that kind of crap, 'cos you've done nothing," she would have shot back, "Remus still can't get a job, he can't get Wolfsbane, he can't do anything he couldn't do a year ago, because you're so obsessed with your bloody trials that you don't care about helping people who need it,"
Kingsley would have remained infuriatingly placid. "As an officer magical law enforcement, you know that fair, public trials are a necessary stage in rebuilding our society,"
"As Minister for Magic, you know fuck all about how many rolls of bandages I have at home because it's the full moon next week. It's like you don't even care about us anymore," she spat. Tonks would have known that this accusation was unfair, but often it felt true. It wasn't as if she expected Kingsley to be round for dinner every night, but she hadn't anticipated him becoming as detached form the Order as he'd become.
"I care about you both very much, but I can't do anything until the trials are out of the way," Kingsley would have re-iterated. He had overseen the first Death Eater trials, and the enquiry into what had happened at Hogwarts over the last year of the war. The legal process was tedious and lengthy, but it was the most important task he could undertake for their society. He was going to get this right. His money and his popularity didn't matter as long as he completed the legal proceedings which would convict and punish the guilty, and exonerate the wrongly accused. Justice and freedom were vital. Having Nymphadora Tonks' favour was not.
"Don't act like your hands are tied, you're the person whose demanding all this legal bullshit,"
"Trials that are public and fair are-"
"Necessary to rebuilding wizarding society, I know. And don't you think that telling people that werewolves aren't all dangerous, that they're normal people- don't you think that's necessary to rebuilding wizarding society?" she charged him.
"Yes. I do. Once the trials are over, Regulation of Magical Creatures will be one of my first concerns," Kingsley would have promised, "You have my word,"
Tonks wouldn't have known what to say to that. She unfolded her arms and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. "Can I go now?"
The snarled question would have made her sound like a surly teenager, but she wouldn't have cared.
"Yes," Kingsley nodded, relieved. He had work to be getting on with. Not for the first time, he'd have wished Mad-Eye was here to keep Tonks in line.
Kingsley moved a stack of papers around on his desk. Tonks would have watched him for a few moments, then blurted:
"Kingsley?"
He'd have glanced up. "Yes?"
"Can you not tell Remus about this?"
She'd have hated herself then. For sounding like a kid pleading with a teacher not to write home about a detention. For mouthing off at Kingsley then begging him for a favour. For sounding as if she was scared about Remus finding out, or worried, or something like that, when really it was none of those. It was just that her husband had got enough on his plate and she wouldn't have wanted to argue with him about this. She wouldn't have wanted repeat that the journalist said, because then she'd have to tell Remus about everything- the fur and the dog biscuits and the collars that arrive on her desk, the man in Dervish and Banges. And that would shatter him.
Tonks would have wished that Mad-Eye was here. It would have been easier to talk to Mad-Eye than to Kingsley about this. Mad-Eye had almost always been telling her off for something or other, so this dressing-down wouldn't have felt so humiliating with him. Mad-Eye would have had an obscure contact who could cobble together Wolfsbane to keep Remus safe. But Mad-Eye was dead, and that made her want to start kicking the walls again. Kingsley's desk was in an excellent position to be shoved over, and there were pages all over it which she could chuck about and tear. Life after the war was so hard. Greif and fatigue and effort and stress and boredom, and why couldn't strangers leave her the fuck alone, let her have a happy life with her beautiful husband and lovely baby, because Remus and Teddy were stressful enough without all this as well.
Tonks would have felt even worse when Kingsley smiled kindly and answered in an understanding tone:
"No. Of course I won't".
