Note: Epic Angst, Super Fluff, a random flashback and probably a little sprinkling of cheese...consider yourselves WARNED!
This was a terribly tricky chapter to write and I have no idea if it is any good or meets any expectations that anybody may have for it. I hope you are not at all disappointed!
This chapter is dedicated to Natalie, with a promise that I will update Snatch & Grab as soon as possible! And to PoppiiD, with the same promise regarding Meet the Animagus! Don't panic, I'm doing the rounds, I'm just updating this story twice because we are so near the end! Any Meet the... fans who are dying of boredom can check out Meet the Malfoys – the first ever Meet the... one-shot! I also have another new story (since this one is almost over and I'm stupid enough to still have 3 or more 'fics on the go at once!) which is called Blood Magic.
Shameless advertising of 'fics over with, on with the show!
31: Once Again, With Feeling
There were a great many different ways that Remus Lupin envisaged the approaching moments of his life playing out, each one more unlikely and more deluded than the last.
First there had been the absurdly hopeful:
Maybe: I knew you'd show up eventually, she'd say, you really are an idiot, running away like that...
Perhaps: Nice hair, he'd mumble, and she'd slap him rebukingly on the arm and grumble: Git!
Or: Don't say anything, she'd insist the moment he opened his mouth to talk, and there would be hugs and kisses and it would magically all seem better and he'd wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then there had been the other end of the scale that was strangely appealing:
Possibly a mild stinging jinx.
Perhaps a slap about the face that would probably be equally as painful and make him stagger a little.
Or something in between; she might fling her wand at him instead. It might poke him in the eye and blind him for a few glorious seconds and he'd feel mighty glad because he wouldn't have to look at her, and quite frankly he felt he might deserve to suffer physically.
Just in case the mental trauma wasn't quite bad enough.
After that final, utterly ridiculous thought, his imaginings had grown steadily more fantastical and were just beginning to border on the downright bizarre when Remus realised that he had been stood upon the doorstep for what was bordering on half an hour.
Merlin, the werewolf thought as he reached to straighten his robes, rocking back on his heels apprehensively, what if she'd spotted him out of the window? Just stood, staring blankly at the door...
He chanced a nervous glance sideways towards the window, half expecting to spot a wide-eyed face pressed to the glass, and was briefly startled by the pot plant that was sat in its place.
The wizard reached to rake a hand through his hair, a despairing chuckle rising in his throat at his wrecked nerves, before drawing in a deep, determined breath and reaching for the door handle.
The hallway seemed unnaturally grey and gloomy, the wallpaper and ceiling around the kitchen door discoloured by smoke from the fire. The door itself had been removed entirely, and the kitchen itself barely resembled a kitchen at all. The majority of the charred and battered countertops had been removed and some attempts had been made to scrub the soot and ash from the floor. In the far corner, somebody had replaced the fridge with a new one...
That hadn't been there, last time he had been home...
Somebody really ought do something about replacing everything else, he mused as he took a couple of cautious, creeping steps into the room, frowning deeply. He and Dora would have to talk about it...
He very nearly chuckled again, then.
As if he and Dora were about to talk about anything, let alone the kitchen!
Except they needed to talk. They had to talk...
He shuffled round to face the living room door, which had been left ajar, and he felt an odd sense of foreboding at just how alike it seemed to the morning he had discovered Carrow-Smyth and Dora upon the sofa. He found himself holding his breath as he reached to push the door open a little so that he could peer inside. A blanket had been abandoned upon the sofa and the coffee table was strewn with parchment, paperwork and a empty ink bottle. Dora was nowhere to be seen. Remus stepped into the room and padded carefully across the carpet, pausing to glance down at the papers upon the table. Bills, letters from Gringotts, pay slips and the large leather bound ledger in which they carefully accounted for their earnings and expenses. The werewolf frowned down at the book, the cost of his wife's misdemeanour at work along with her reduced pay staring grimly back up at him...
What a mess, he thought to himself dismally, and to think that was the very least of it...
As he sunk down onto the sofa, gazing blankly at the book, Remus found himself wishing for a time turner, wishing they could start again; back before Carrow-Smyth's death, back before the Ministry interfering in their lives, back before the Child and the prophecy...
And why stop there? Why not wish to back track a little more?
Because Remus felt utterly wretched, low enough to want to take back a whole range of things over the years where he and Dora were concerned, from the major to the down right insignificant.
He wished he'd not gotten so over-excited at the prospect of his first job in years, when Minerva had written to ask him to return to teach at Hogwarts. He wished he hadn't written back on the spot and agreed to take it. He wished he'd waited for Dora to arrive home from work so that they could discuss it first. It didn't matter how pleased she'd been, that wasn't the point...
He wished he hadn't spent a good few years resenting her steady climb up the ranks at Auror Headquarters whilst he had been stuck back at home, left holding the baby. Because she'd probably noticed. He wished he'd admitted to himself at the time just how he felt. Because then he might have told himself to snap out of it and stop being such a pathetic and selfish tosser.
He wished he hadn't been such a prat and done a runner when she was pregnant. Merlin, how he wished he could take that back!
He wished that when she had finally plucked up the courage to admit the existence of their fast approaching little bundle of joy, he hadn't looked so utterly horrified.
He wished he hadn't demanded: Get rid of it!
And when she had attempted to reason with him, Remus fervently wished that he had kept his mouth shut and failed to argue with her.
He wished he hadn't ruined what ought to have been one of the most wonderful and happy moments of their married life.
He wished he hadn't proposed to her in such a sudden and almost whimsical manner. He wished he'd planned something nice, something memorable. He wished the event hadn't been so over-shadowed by Dumbledore's death mere hours beforehand.
He wished he hadn't ignored her letters whilst he'd been away with the werewolf pack. He wished he hadn't reduced her to such a miserable state...just as he had again now.
He wished he hadn't snapped so often at Sirius whenever he made comments about their relationship. He wished he'd had the confidence to grin broadly and be proud of himself, and not so utterly ashamed.
Even their first date had left much to be desired, Remus thought miserably as he reached to rub a weary hand across his eyes. He wished that had been better, too. He wished they hadn't started off the conversation with a near-on row about whether or not they were technically on a date or not, or if they were just there as friends. He wished he'd thrown all caution to the wind and kissed her on her doorstep when he'd walked her home.
Now he thought about it, Remus mused as he heaved a sigh, things had been going wrong since...well...the beginning! What he wouldn't give to start it all again...
He rose reluctantly to his feet and shuffled back out into the hallway, before setting off up the staircase at a snail's pace, heart thudding dully in his chest as he reached the landing above and turned to find the door to the master bedroom wide open.
Dora was lying upon the bed, seemingly fast asleep, a head of disarrayed mousy hair fanned out upon the pillow about her head. Abandoned atop the duvet beside her was a heavy leather bound book, and as he crept cautiously across the room, a closer look led Remus to identify it as one of the aged Defence Against the Dark Arts books that Alastor Moody had left, along with several trunkfuls of other belongings, to Dora in his will. Remus reached to pick up the tome, gazing down at the faded lettering upon the cover before setting it down upon the bedside table. He turned back to gaze down at the sleeping witch, a fresh lump forming in his throat.
Sweet Merlin, he'd missed her!
Without surprisingly little thought, the werewolf crept round to the other side of the bed, kicked off his shoes and sunk down onto the bed beside her. For a long moment he lay, staring contentedly at the back of her head, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, and he mused that this felt nice...
Safe.
Simple.
Serene...
He suddenly felt far less nervous than he had just moments previously, so much so that he dared draw in a deep breath and at long last reach to put an arm around her.
Dora instantly stiffened. The jolted movement very nearly knocked the confidence clear from him, and yet he waited determinedly for her surprise to wear off, for her to relax...
A long minute passed. Neither of them moved a muscle.
In hindsight, Remus realised as he drew in a deep breath, ready to mumble whatever happened to come to mind, this was probably a bad beginning...
At the thought of beginnings, the werewolf found himself suddenly struck with an idea, and he managed to clear his throat a little and mumble:
"Hello..."
"Hi..." came the equally as apprehensive response, but he refused to be deterred, his grip upon her slackening as he decided:
"You're going to need a pair of socks, some shoes and a coat. We're going out."
There was a long and distinctly confused silence. Apparently after so many days apart and several ignored letters this had not been the sort of greeting that his wife had been expecting, for she shuffled away from him a little and inquired:
"Are you taking the piss?"
Remus supposed this was probably a rather good question.
"No..." he mumbled, reaching to push himself back up into a sitting position. "I'm...I'm not..."
Dora considered this rather garbled response before reaching to grab fistfuls of duvet, hugging them to her chest.
"Well," she murmured, voice unnaturally hoarse, "if it's all the same to you, love, I'd rather just...just stay here..." She trailed off with a sniff, ducking her head so that she could bury her face in her arms. Remus felt nerves begin to assault his chest. He was beginning to feel rather stupid.
"I didn't mean to...to start like that..." he admitted, feeling himself redden. "What I mean is...well...I thought, perhaps...maybe...we could...well..."
"Did Harry send you?" Dora asked, apparently not really listening to what he was mumbling about, and he thought she meant it to be some sort of accusation, only she sounded far too feeble for anything of the sort.
"No..." he winced as the word left his lips far too quickly and her shoulders hunched as if the sound had stung her.
"Liar." she whispered, again far less an accusation that it ought have been, much more a statement of fact. He didn't see much use in denying it.
"I don't...don't think it matters if he sent me or not." he protested half-heartedly. "If...if I didn't want to be here...well...well I'd have ignored him, wouldn't I?"
"I hope so." she sighed heavily and rolled onto her back, distinctly watery gaze upon the ceiling. "It's not to late, you know." she said, not daring to glance sideways at him. "If you go now we could pretend you were never here."
"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, feeling quite pained and promptly wishing he hadn't asked because the prospect of a reply was a troubling one.
"Because..." Dora whispered with a sniff, reaching to swipe a hand across her eyes before finally fixing him with a stare. "Because it...it would feel safer that way."
"Safer?"
"Yes..."
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Because what?"
The mousy haired witch's gaze dropped to her hands, her fingers clasped together nervously as she admitted:
"Because, Remus, I'm frightened. I'm...I'm scared."
Remus felt a sudden urge to reach to throw his arms tightly around her, and yet he couldn't bear to do so for fear she might go horribly tense in his arms again, the feeling would surely shatter any nerve that he had left. Instead, he leant back until he could lean his head against the wall, the cool plaster against the back of his head sent a shiver down his spine.
"What are you afraid of, Dora?"
Dora slumped so far forward that her forehead very nearly met the duvet and when she replied her voice was so quiet that he very nearly couldn't hear her.
"Of...of you. Of me. Of us...I'm afraid that we can't be fixed...that...that we're too damaged..."
Her expression grew somewhat relieved when he admitted:
"Me too." He fidgeted nervously for a moment before clearing his throat a little and telling her: "And that's why I think we should...well...that we should start again."
"Start again?"
"Yes. From the beginning. Right from the beginning."
Dora's eyebrows knitted together as she frowned down into her lap.
"I'm not even sure I know when the beginning was." she confessed, smearing a stray tear across her cheek with the sleeve of her jumper. "If it...if it was the...the fire or...or at Mungo's or...or even back in the broom cupboard all those years ago..."
"I mean further back than all that." Remus told her, feeling rather as though again he ought put an arm around her or something but not really having the guts to do so. "I was thinking more the beginning of us."
Dora let out a soft huff of despairing amusement.
"I wasn't aware our relationship had been buggered for quite that long."
"Me neither," Remus said, very nearly huffing himself. "But that's precisely the point."
"Oh." she mumbled, though he was pretty sure she didn't have a clue what he meant.
"Do you love me?" he asked frankly, stomach twisting a little when the question made her visibly flinch.
"Yes." she said, nodding her head firmly, only to flinch again when he asked:
"And do you think I love you?"
"Yes. In...in a way."
"What does that mean?"
"I...I don't really know...I suppose you love me, but...but you don't."
"What about before? Years ago? What about...what about back during the War? Did you love me then?"
"Of course I did."
"And did I love you then?"
"Of course you did."
"Well then. There lies the difference. You think I loved you better, back then."
Dora looked up from her lap to fix him with dull eyes as she sucked in a deep breath.
"And did you?" she whispered, leaning back a little as if she didn't really want to hear an answer. "Did you love me better, back then?"
Remus remained mute. Dora promptly flopped back down upon the bed, eyes screwed shut against a defeated sob.
"That's...irrelevant." Remus mumbled, reaching to rake a weary hand through his hair, and his indifference finally broke her and she let out a choked sob into the nearest pillow.
"How can you say that?"
"It's a pointless question for you to ask starters...you've abused my loyalty, of course I don't love you the same..."
As he watched his wife promptly dissolve into tears, Remus very nearly bit through his tongue in an attempt to stop the barrage of bitter thoughts spurting from his mouth.
This was stupid, he realised as he was forced to turn to stare blankly out of the window. It was utterly foolish. Plan ruined or not, it didn't matter. He wasn't ready for all of this, not ready at all...
He should probably leave...
But then again it couldn't get much worse...
"But that doesn't matter, does it?" he asked, pretending she wasn't still sobbing miserably upon the bed beside him. "Because if we're going to go back to the very beginning...well, I don't love you any less, do I? In fact...if we go back far enough I probably don't love you at all...I don't know you...and that would be a good place to start, wouldn't it? Because if we fell in love once, I don't see why we couldn't do it again."
It took Dora a long moment to stop sobbing just long enough to tell him:
"That's mental, Remus. You're mental."
"Well you don't know that, do you?" he said, sounding bordering on offended as he crossed his arms firmly across his chest. "You don't really know me..."
To his utter surprise, this coaxed the smallest of sniggers from her lips, and after a sizeable pause she removed her tear-stained face from the refuge of her arms to regard him with puffy dark eyes.
"I haven't agreed to go back to...to anything..." she mumbled, seemingly not entirely sure where the conversation was headed, and he drew in a deep, daring breath and rolled his eyes at her, demanding:
"Well? Are you going to let me take you out on our first date or not?"
It was utterly stupid, if truth be told, and probably far too daft an idea for a situation as dire and serious as this. Remus knew it, and yet he forced himself to stare expectantly at her.
Because it was the only idea he had.
The long, deliberating silence that followed made his stomach twist into knots, and he very nearly let out a sigh of relief when Dora slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position and asked:
"Where are we going?"
Half an hour later saw them huddled together on a park bench not far from the house, a couple of bottles of butterbeer and a large bag of piping hot chips set down in his lap.
As he set about uncapping the bottle, each with a soft pop, Dora gazed up at the dreary, overcast sky and observed:
"This isn't very romantic."
"No, it isn't." Remus agreed, "I don't suppose I've really...really thought this through."
As she accepted the bottle that he offered her, Dora managed a vague snigger.
"I don't mind though, I've never been one for fancy restaurants, have I?" she said, and he found himself smiling a little as he asked:
"I don't know, have you?"
Dora pursed her lips together against further sniggering.
"No, I haven't." she consented to informing him, and he murmured:
"Well that's a stroke of luck."
For a moment they sat in silence as she watched him carefully set about opening up the paper bagful of chips, before she seemingly decided to play along whole-heartedly, wondering:
"Do you do that a lot, then? Not think things through, I mean."
Remus frowned down into the paper bag, pursing his lips together in consideration.
"No, not really." he mumbled. "I think most things through...probably too much."
"Then you don't consider yourself to be very spontaneous?"
"No. I like to...plan things. I feel more comfortable that way."
Dora leant back in her seat, reaching to tug her coat more firmly around her.
"I'm infuriatingly spontaneous." she admitted, face contorting into a near-scowl. "I probably shouldn't tell you that though, should I? It'll put you off me...like the last guy."
As he selected a chip with what was probably far more consideration than was necessary, the werewolf told her:
"I doubt it."
"I don't." she mumbled wearily. "In fact you should probably go home now, you know...I'm trouble."
"And a werewolf isn't?"
"I don't know...do you leave hair on the carpet?"
Their combined laughter was utter music to his ears, and he felt rather tempted to throw his arms around her in triumph.
This was them. This was what it had always been like, how it ought still be...
Remus couldn't remember the last time they had joked about his condition, or about anything for that matter. He'd missed their jokes so terribly, their absence had sucked the cheer from life, sudden and sometimes unexpected little interludes that upon first meeting her he had found somewhat perplexing.
She's a bloody nutcase! he recalled Sirius announcing one night after an Order meeting, during which Dora had interrupted Moody's grim report to suggest a new and decisive move for the Order: An attack upon whichever apothecary supplied Lucius Malfoy with his no doubt limitless supply of shampoo and conditioner, with an aim to crush morale at Malfoy Manor, whilst providing the Order with the opportunity to nab a product or two to present to Snape at Christmas. The young Auror had made this suggestion with an utterly dead-pan face, voice gravely serious until Sirius had toppled off his chair, no longer able to suppress his hysterical laughter. By the time Sirius had dragged himself back up off the floor and the rest of the Order had stopped sniggering, Moody's fury appeared entirely lost on Dora, because she had promptly returned to listening carefully, quill pen poised and ready to take notes.
Remus had agreed with his friend that clearly she was slightly mental, and Sirius had grinned and announced:
I like her!
As amusing as she was, Remus had found Dora's abrupt shift between humour and seriousness somewhat difficult to get used to. And yet it had soon become one of the things that he adored most about her.
True to form, Dora reached to retrieve a chip from the bag and, after chewing on it thoughtfully, announced in a downright grave voice:
"That's why I'm here with you now, you see...why I ruined it with the last guy. I was being bloody spontaneous...I didn't stop and think! And...and now he...he can barely stand to look at me. I've driven him away...he...he doesn't come home at night and he doesn't reply to my letters."
"I wouldn't worry if I were you." Remus told her, selecting another chip. "I doubt he was worth it, anyway."
"How'd you know?"
"Well...if he was worth it he'd have had the backbone to stick around a bit longer."
Dora let out a soft huff of disapproval, hugging her arms tightly around herself as she eyed her boots.
"Well," she whispered, digging a pointed toe into the gravelly soil, "there's only so much a man can take from the world's worst wife, you know."
Remus leant to stretch his legs out in front of him, lips twitching towards a smile as he selected another chip.
"That's probably true. Assuming you were the world's worst wife, of course."
"I was."
"Mm...I can't really picture it."
As she reached for the bagful of chips again, Dora muttered:
"It's your funeral."
Remus watched as an elderly man walking his dog made a slow, shuffling progression across the bottom of the hill they were sat atop of, fingers toying thoughtfully with the paper bag.
"Well it would be rather hypocritical of me, don't you think, to want somebody who was perfect." he reasoned. "It's not as if I'm even bordering on half decent myself."
"Are you not?" Dora asked, glancing sideways at him with wide, supposedly shocked eyes, and he wasn't quite sure whether or not she was being sarcastic.
"Nope, not even close. That's why I'm here with you, you see. That's why it didn't work out last time. I was...far too judgemental."
To his utterly bewilderment, Dora swallowed her current mouthful of potato and said:
"Cool."
"Cool?"
"Yeah. It's cool that we've got something in common. I'm a judgmental bitch too."
"What?"
"It's true, you know. That's another reason why I'm here. I go off and totally screw up my marriage, let some other guy you couldn't trust as far as you could throw him get between my husband and I, and once I mess him around enough I go and have the bloody nerve to ask him a stupid favour, and then get dead miffed when he doesn't instantly jump at the chance to help me. I...ha! I even told him he was over analysing everything! How...how bloody stupid and...and selfish is that?"
"Well that would depend. Perhaps you weren't entirely wrong." He turned to fix her with a stare as he murmured: "Perhaps he shouldn't have thought so much. Perhaps he should have just concentrated on what was right in front of him the whole time."
Dora seemed entirely unaware of the tear that was making its way steadily down her cheek as she shifted to gaze back at him, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat.
"And what was that?" she whispered, sounding painfully apprehensive.
Remus reached to take hold of her gently by the hand, feeling his stomach twist nervously as his fingers laced carefully through her own.
"Somebody who loves him unconditionally." he decided, glancing down at their entwined fingers as if he feared she might pull away from him, before his eyes darted back up to meet hers. "Somebody who cares for him when he is sick, who lies awake at night and frets about him, who knows how to stay positive and make him laugh and smile. Somebody who is imperfect, but is entirely perfect for him. Somebody he probably doesn't deserve, but by some miracle is married to anyway."
And at long last, as she reached to lay a hand atop of their laced fingers, Dora truly smiled, a beautiful curve of the lips and a burst of relief that made her eyes positively shine.
"Yeah, well," the witch whispered, the tips of her mousy hair tinged pink. "It's too late for him now, isn't it? Because I've got you instead."