The week after that, he saw Tonks get up from the meeting table when the meeting ended and head into the kitchen. He watched the empty doorway for a moment, and when everyone was gone, he followed her. He didn't give himself time to think about why. He just... wanted to talk to her. Or be in her presence. Something like that.
He found her sitting on the kitchen counter, pointing her wand at a kettle until it started to boil. She looked up, a soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He opened his mouth to speak, but, upon realising he actually had nothing to say and nothing to justify his following her into the kitchen, shut it again.
"Want a cuppa tea?" She offered. And so they were able to skip asking why who was still in the empty house long after the Order had left and their business there was done. This evening, Remus was in more of a talkative mood, having had time to recover from the full moon. They talked about nothing and everything—the weather, Dumbledore's plans for Harry, Sirius's horrible new haircut, their families, their times at Hogwarts, the terrible professors they had suffered through and their mutual agreement that Snape would absolutely be worse than all of them. It was peace and contentment; It was new.
As is often the case with tradition, it was not until several weeks later that Remus realised he was in the midst of one. Without making the conscious decision, he stayed after every Order meeting. Sometimes he would make the tea, usually Tonks would (for all her clumsiness, she made an excellent cup, but he wasn't convinced that she wasn't slipping alcohol in, either). She came back from the kitchen with two steaming mugs and walked all the way around the table to sit next to him, not across. She crossed her legs on her chair so that their knees were nearly touching. She had confirmed during their first conversation that Remus had no wild, secret werewolf life. He actually enjoyed reading about the history of magic. He couldn't stay awake past 10 o'clock. He once faked an illness to get out of taking a test, and then felt so guilty about it that he confessed to Professor Dumbledore the same day. And yet, his being a werewolf was the least interesting thing about him; if not for causing him so much pain every month, she would have said it was practically irrelevant. She had told him that one time, and he glared, saying: "It's not irrelevant. It's incredibly significant. It's dangerous."
"No, I mean," she said hurriedly, "I know it sucks for you, and all, but it doesn't affect who you are as a person. It doesn't change how the Order and everyone sees you." He had only rolled his eyes.
But it was true. If someone asked her to describe Remus Lupin, she could name a million other quirks and interests and factoids before she got to "Oh yeah, and number one-million-and-one, he's a werewolf. So that's something, I guess."
If someone had asked Remus Lupin what he and Tonks were to each other, he would have said friends. Good friends, even, maybe, but basically just friends. He didn't consider anything else—didn't consider if he wanted it to be anything else—because those kinds of thoughts didn't cross his mind. He didn't do romantic entanglements, or encounters, or flings, or whatever. It wasn't an option for him, and that was fine. He had friends: Sirius, the Order, and now Tonks. Loud, clumsy, bright hair, bright smile, bright mind. She may have been overly exuberant and idealistic, but naive she was not. Her way of looking for the world was simply to see the light, instead of the shadows. As someone who was familiar with the shadows, who lived in them, her presence was truly a welcome reprieve. How nice to have such a friend. Just a friend, that's all.
Tonks may have said the same thing, but she knew they were teetering on the precipice of something else, something more. At least, she wanted it to be something more. She was so drawn to him, she felt like her soul orbited his. She felt calmer and happier simply being in his presence. He made her feel like the world could be better than what it was.
She shifted in her seat, edging slightly closer. They were definitely touching now, Remus thought, that couldn't be a mistake. He couldn't bring himself to move, though. He focused on the tea cup.
"Ah, so, funny thing last week," Tonks started. "My patronus is different." That caught Remus's attention. He looked up from his mug.
"Really? That's quite unusual. Did something happen? What's the new form?"
"A wolf." Her luminous blue eyes found and held his gaze. A smile teased at the corners of her mouth. It took significant effort on his part not to let his eyes drift down.
"Oh, um, that's..." he mumbled, trailing off. He couldn't focus on words, too busy was he trying to backpedal, trying to find his balance as he found himself falling into her gaze. Falling into her. A wolf, she said. Was her face getting closer? No, no, no, turn away, find an exit strategy, fake a transformation right now if you have to. But more than he wanted her not to want him, he just... wanted her. And so when she kissed him, he let her.
Her mouth was soft and warm. One hand, seemingly without his permission, moved to the side of her face as the other went to her waist. He drew her in like breath.
She moved back slightly. He could still feel the imprint of her mouth on his. Instinctively, his fingers pressed into her side, not wanting to let her go. She exhaled softly onto his face.
"Remus, I think you know how I feel—" she began. This was the cue he needed to pull his hands back. As a further precautionary measure, he shoved them under his thighs, just to prevent any unconscious movements. This was not a good idea. This was unchartered territory. He couldn't lead this woman on, couldn't delude her into thinking that they could ever be more than friends. Close friends, sure. But that was all he could be, for anyone. For their own good. He didn't mind letting Sirius in, of course, but he had his own trauma. He wasn't jaded by Remus's. In fact, in terms of what Sirius had faced, Remus's monthly transformations were quite literally a walk in the park. Tonks was different; she was optimistic and full of light, and Remus cared about her too much to drag her into his darkness. He mentally kicked himself for letting things go this far.
"I hope you feel that we're very good friends, as I do." He replied curtly, staring resolutely past her at the ugly portraiture on the wall. She scoffed.
"Come off it. I know you know me better than that. I'd like to think I know you better than that," she said pointedly.
"Dora— Tonks!" He corrected quickly. "It just can't happen. It's too dangerous, I am too dangerous."
"Remus!" Her feet flew to the floor as she stood up, arms crossed. "You're infantilizing me. As if I can't take care of myself. As if I've never experienced danger. As if I'm not a god damn auror. You think I can't handle—!"
"No! I know you can! But I don't want you to!" At this, Tonks looked hurt, crushed, even. She sat on the edge of the table, looking off into the blackness of the house.
"You let Sirius in. I just don't know why I'm not good enough." Remus allowed himself to look at her directly. It was Tonks who could not—or would not—meet his gaze, now.
"It's not—" he sighed. Anything he said would just make it worse, so he might as well be honest. "It's not that you're not good enough. You're too good. I wouldn't subject you to my life. You deserve better."
"I fucking deserve what I fucking want! Or am I not an independent woman who can make her own fucking choices?" Remus had forgotten about Tonk's proclivity to liberally douse her sentences with swear words when she got upset.
Remus stood, too. He had several inches on her, but her icy blue gaze made him feel like he was the size of a house-elf. He spoke softly, trying to strip all emotion from his voice.
"Dora, please. If you care about me at all, please don't make this any more difficult." He was about to go, but, before he could make himself move, bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. As he pulled back he felt like he was fighting against a sticking spell. Amazing how the simplest thing—putting your mouth on someone else's skin—could create such a powerful urge.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O
The phrase "It was peace and contentment; It was new." is adapted from a line in The Orange (a most delightful poem)
also if anyone is actually reading this, I really appreciate it because I know my upload sched has (and will continue to be) chaos, but there are some phrases in this that I'm actually really proud of!