Tonks got her wish for new robes. Remus blinked at his wardrobe, which had over a dozen new sets of robes. They were new to him; all of them were secondhand but expertly trimmed and altered by Andromeda to fit Remus. He could never have afforded them, new or used, as they were the old, barely worn robes of rich purebloods looking for new styles.
After Andromeda was through with them, by removing all identifying details (some families liked their ancestral crests on their robes) and adjusting the fit, Remus had more clothes than he knew what to do with. His Muggle wardrobe had expanded as well. He'd only needed a few additional simple, reliable pieces for his workplace, but when Tonks learned that all the Muggle relatives she wanted to invite wouldn't be able to attend the wedding due to Ministry restrictions at Hogsmeade, she tasked her parents with setting up a small, intimate Muggle ceremony for the extended Tonks clan. It was set three days before the magical one, and Remus had a broad-shouldered, brown tweed suit to wear to it.
It was excessive and unnecessary, and Remus swallowed the discomfort as best he could. He learned to pick his battles; he had to cooperate just enough to keep Tonks and her family from suspecting his escape plans, while fighting against Tonks's absurd luxuries and indulgences, which only made his situation worse. Her schemes were all aimed at him, in what he thought was a plan to make him a presentable, passing husband to her, but as the endeavor was pointless, he tried to keep her and her family from spending too much gold.
As he touched each set of robes, given to him only the night before, he leaned his head against his forearm, which rested against the side of the wardrobe.
He had a month to go before he escaped. He'd contemplated getting an international Portkey sooner, which wouldn't take him as far, but he figured France was almost as good a place to start as Poland, his intended destination. He'd find a way to get there, perhaps by bartering his way to a functional broomstick.
The thought filled him with dread. He didn't want to leave Britain. He used travel as an escape method in his twenties, but when the wanderings across Europe left him feeling empty, he returned to what he knew. Britain wasn't perfect, but it was his homeland.
He was also reluctant to leave Tonks after all she'd done for him. With every Knut, Sickle, and Galleon she spent on him, for all the little things she brought home to share, the joys she'd introduced him to, and the blessed feeling of security in home and heart, his guilt grew deeper. He knew he was abusing her friendship and goodwill by continuing the charade, and he knew she'd be humiliated when he failed to show up to the wedding.
It was better to be humiliated at 23, he reasoned, than to be stuck in a hopeless marriage for the next several years. She would bounce back. He would survive or die trying.
"Remus, are you almost ready?"
"Yes," he replied, choosing a set of dark grey robes. "How long do I have to be there?"
"Maybe an hour? Mum said it would be most polite for you to stay the whole time, but it's not unusual for some grooms to leave after an hour or two. Tomorrow we're doing the Muggle one."
Remus grunted his assent and clasped the robes together.
Ten minutes later, they were at her parents' home, where twenty or so witches were gathered for a bridal shower. None of them would look Remus in the eye, but as they weren't outright hostile, he took it as a sign that the hour wouldn't be miserable.
Andromeda prepared a brunch spread, and while they ate, Remus and Tonks were peppered with questions about their relationship. Their answers were well-rehearsed; with the amount of give and take, their audience smiled at the right spots, gave Tonks sweet well-wishes, and cordially congratulated Remus on his good fortune.
"And when should we expect the baby?" An older, batty witch had a smirk on her face and dropped her eyes to Tonks's flat abdomen. "That's what all this rush is about, isn't it?"
Silence fell over the room. Tonks cleared her throat and grabbed Remus's hand.
"I don't want children," she announced. "And there's none to speak of. We're getting married because we're in love. There won't ever be a baby Lupin."
Andromeda took over the conversation by bringing up some drivel about rising prices for silks.
"Was that okay?" Tonks whispered into Remus's ear. "I didn't want to insult your . . . manhood."
He turned his head to her, his lips dangerously close to the soft skin of her cheek, and murmured, "That was perfect, thank you." He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but he thought he saw an attractive blush come over her.
It was time to open gifts next, and Tonks convinced him to stay with her as they opened prettily wrapped parcels from the guests.
Tonks was all smiles as she handed Remus everything related to the kitchen, happily telling the women that he was an excellent cook and always had something waiting for her for dinner. He grew hot under the praise, and he knew his face was beet red when she kissed his cheek in front of everyone. That reaction garnered even more admiring sounds from the ladies and Tonks kissed his cheek again with a wink.
Too embarrassed to look anywhere else, his eyes found his future in-laws, who regarded him with unreadable looks. Neither Ted nor Andromeda was exactly smiling, but they weren't scowling or frowning at him. Their expressions were almost guarded, but pleasant, and Remus didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't as if he was the one kissing their daughter in the middle of their living room. He played the part of a loving fiancé by attending the bridal shower and agreeing to whatever Tonks said, including being subjected to the feel of her soft, sweet lips on his skin.
(He had lost hope of taking a hot shower until well after he forgot about the way any part of her body felt on his.)
The party came to an end and Remus was bid goodbye far more warmly than the civil greetings he received upon entering the home. Tonks beamed, whispering at him between goodbyes that they'd accomplished much that day, and her mother was a genius for hosting the event, as pointless as it was to get them loads of posh cookware when what they had was perfectly suitable.
The eccentric old woman from before was the last to leave. She stopped in front of Remus and Tonks, scrutinizing them, and pinched their cheeks, making Remus feel like a five-year-old.
"You'll do well together," she said. "It's obvious you're in love, with all your little whispers and smiles. I look forward to your wedding—and mayhap, Nymphadora, you'll change your mind and give your husband a little one to pass on his family name to."
Tonks gritted her teeth and smiled, while Remus grabbed her hand unthinkingly. He couldn't let her go now, so he waited until the old woman was out the door to release Tonks's warm grasp.
"That went well, didn't it?"
"It did," Andromeda replied briskly. "You'll have to remember to write thank you notes."
"I can do it," Remus volunteered. "Daisy could use the experience. She only ever goes to Hogwarts, here, or headquarters."
"Will you need help with the Muggle post?" asked Ted. "For tomorrow's shower?"
Remus was ready to tell him no, he was perfectly capable of using the Muggle post, but Ted's question felt more like a thinly masked demand. As he didn't want to offend Tonks's father, he accepted the assistance, and promised to start on thank you notes with him as soon as the next party was over.
So it was that Remus and Tonks returned to their flat, laden with expensive gifts, only to do it again the next day, but with the Tonkses' Muggle friends and family.
Remus shuffled several flowery cards on the dining table in front of him and chose one with pink, blooming roses.
"For your aunt, I think," he explained to Ted, pointing to the line on their gift list that read 'Aunt Rose—embroidered cushions.' It was the last of the thank you notes to the Tonkses' Muggle friends and family, and though Remus's hand was cramping, he resolved to finish the task before going home.
Ted set the card aside and said, "I'll have Dora write this one. She ought to write at least one herself."
He clasped his hands together, set them on his belly, and leaned back in his chair.
"Dora's taken quite a shine to you, don't you think?"
Remus instantly felt uneasy. An hour and a half writing thank you notes had passed without much meaningful conversation, and he felt like an idiot for thinking it would be a relatively quiet, easy activity. He hesitated before answering and straightened the pile of addressed, stamped cards.
"She's kind and generous with me. I'm grateful for her help."
"True." Ted brought a palm up to his face and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Dora's always been everything that's good, generous, and helpful. She's got the habit of putting her whole heart into something. It's generally a good thing, but it hurts more if it doesn't work out . . . 'Dromeda and I didn't know what we would do with her if she hadn't passed all the N.E.W.T.s she needed to become an Auror, or if she hadn't passed all her qualifying examinations. Her whole heart and soul were in it. We didn't want our girl to be brokenhearted, you see."
"I do," said Remus, feeling his mouth grow dry. "She doesn't do things halfway."
"No, she doesn't." Ted arched a brow at him and exhaled slowly, intentionally. "She's a clever girl. She works hard and puts her mind to things that she can usually achieve—the things that aren't dead ends, if you know what I mean."
Remus was rigid in his chair. He hadn't the foggiest what Ted was trying to tell him.
"Her affection for you—you don't seem to enjoy it."
Remus thought there was no way to answer that question without coming off as a thoughtless prick.
"I appreciate her efforts," he said apprehensively, "I've never been one for public displays of affection, even in other . . . situations."
"I would suggest you tell my daughter to curtail her behavior," Ted said casually, flicking off a piece of lint from his shirt. "Unless you plan on encouraging her?"
"No!" Remus lifted his palms and shook them frantically. "No, no, I wouldn't dare—wouldn't dream—"
"—calm down, son. I understand." Ted seemed somewhat relieved by Remus's reaction, as his shoulders relaxed and his eyes were crinkling in amusement, not unlike his daughter's. "I don't think she means anything by it, but I suspect you wouldn't want to encourage her, in case I'm mistaken."
"She's affectionate with everyone—"
"—not necessarily with men," Ted said, the amusement leaving his eyes. "You aren't going to raise her hopes, should you see them, and I want to make it clear that I haven't seen anything too out of the ordinary, but given your . . . arrangement . . . I thought it best to speak with you, before it gets out of hand."
"There are no hopes," Remus replied firmly, "for either of us. I haven't changed my behavior or feelings. Nothing has changed for me."
Ted regarded him for several seconds and released a jovial huff.
"It's as I said, son. You're both being careful, as you promised you would. Now, why don't we fetch Dora and see if she'll sit still long enough to write a card to her Great Auntie Rose."
After Remus's harrowing conversation with Ted, he decided not to talk to Tonks about her affectionate gestures. He knew she was like that with good friends—she was often affectionate with Sirius, for example—and it would only make things awkward if Remus decided to bring it up to her.
Besides, with so little time remaining till the wedding, it hardly mattered. Even if Remus thought he was leading Tonks on (a ludicrous thought), she was young and healthy enough to find some other romantic entertainment.
It certainly didn't mean Remus couldn't enjoy the little touches she gave him, or the smile she flashed just for him during Order meetings, or the intimate, secret knowledge he'd gathered of her facial expressions, always known to him even through disguise.
"I thought everyone knew about the Room of Requirement."
Remus looked at Tonks over Harry's latest letter, startled away from his contemplation of her curves. "They did?"
"All the Hufflepuffs did. Everyone knows the Chamber of Secrets was Slytherin's thing and the Room of Requirement was Hufflepuff's."
"It was?" Remus stared at her, baffled, refusing to believe that he and his friends missed that crucial part of the castle on their Map.
Tonks rolled her eyes. "Ravenclaws have got an extra library and lounge. You've just got to solve another riddle to get there, but it's behind that one super annoying portrait of the knight – Sir Cadogan, I think it was? I went there a few times, but it just wasn't worth all the stairs."
"And Gryffindors?"
"Whose hat became the Sorting Hat?" she said, raising a pink eyebrow at him. "And who else would've come up with a Headmaster's office guarded by a gargoyle? Rumor has it he wanted a griffin, but the other founders thought it was too obvious who'd left it behind."
Remus gaped at her, utterly befuddled by what he was hearing. Harry had written to inform him that the D.A., Dumbledore's Army, had found a meeting place, and he was at a loss for what Room of Hidden Things he was referring to.
"Everything but the Chamber of Secrets is a rumor, but Hufflepuff left plenty of clues in our common room for the Room of Requirement. We're particularly good finders, you know. Too bad you and your friends didn't have a 'Puff to help you with that Map."
Remus made a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat and returned to his reply to Harry. He promised to send books (using Sirius's funds) and urged caution when practicing new spells. He felt he couldn't tell Harry to abandon his plans, not after his broomstick had been confiscated and his permanent ban from Quidditch, but Remus feared that if Harry broke any more rules he would be expelled. Though that decision remained with the Headmaster, he thought it wouldn't take much for Umbridge to take that power for herself.
"Oi, Moony, Tonks!" Sirius appeared in Grimmauld Place's kitchen with Kingsley on his heels and several books under his arms. He dropped them unceremoniously on the dining table. "Kings did some clever charm work on them—they won't show their true contents until Harry gets them."
Tonks furrowed her brow as she read through the titles. She lifted a copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet and asked, "What are they really supposed to be?"
"Hexes for the Hexed," Kingsley replied. "We dug through the volumes in the library and chose the less . . . deranged ones."
"Obviously we're not sending him books on Dark magic," Sirius explained, "but all our old Defense Against the Dark Arts texts were in decent shape. They're not terribly outdated."
"You know," Tonks said, looking directly at Remus, "you could wrap these in your bookshop's papers. Tell Harry to appreciate the Bard's sonnets while contemplating his lack of a good ride."
Remus burst into laughter and knew he was blushing furiously at her veiled remark, but agreed that it would be a good idea to make it seem as if he was trying to persuade Harry against rule-breaking.
A low, persistent trill startled him. Kingsley locked eyes with Tonks and sighed. "It's time to go," he said ruefully, moving his gaze from her to Sirius. "Tonks and I have got the overnight shift."
Tonks groaned and gathered her things. Remus felt his heart deflate. A glance at Sirius showed a similar sentiment regarding Kingsley's upcoming absence; Remus could only hope he didn't look as obviously forlorn with Tonks going too.
"See you in the morning, gentlemen," Tonks said, before giving Remus a brief side-hug. Sirius got a warmer goodbye from Kingsley, as they could show genuine affection for each other without any pretense. Remus knew he was being foolish, longing for something real with Tonks, but he couldn't get his hopes up (or hers, according to Ted, but he maintained it was an absurd notion). He had only a month to go before he could run off and get over her in peace.
Sirius and Remus watched the Aurors go up the stairs to leave through the front door. While Sirius slumped into a chair and sipped his drink, Remus closed his eyes, wishing Tonks was still there.
"Have you considered telling her how you feel?"
Remus's eyes flew open. "Excuse me?"
"She likes you."
"We're friends. Just friends."
"No one says 'just' friends like that without trying to hide something." Sirius took a long sip and mmmed contently. "She said the same thing."
"Then that's what it means," Remus said, hearing the pitch in his voice rise. "We're friends—that's all."
Sirius's eyes shone with unrestrained glee. "Has she told you about the animals?"
"What?" Remus scratched the side of his head and frowned. "What animals?"
"Every so often," Sirius said calmly, "she gets a bloodied animal corpse on her desk. She got one this morning, if I'm not mistaken."
". . . why?"
"They always come with a note."
Remus's head felt very hot. It wasn't the pleasant kind of heat he felt when Tonks was around him; his ears felt like they were filled with cotton, and his stomach immediately began convulsing.
"Why," said Remus, struggling to keep his voice, even, "is she getting them?"
"Warnings from supposedly well-meaning, concerned citizens." Sirius wiped his sleeve against his mouth. "Warnings against you. Words of caution, mostly nonsense, telling her she'll see the same, grisly end."
"Because—" Remus stopped himself. It was obvious why she was getting the ghastly, horrific 'warnings.' Several emotions coursed through him, none of which improved his already dampened mood.
"Why do you think she hasn't said anything?" Sirius said, summoning a bottle of brandy to his side. He unscrewed it and poured a generous portion into his empty glass. "She knows you'll try to run off. She says it'll be embarrassing, letting you leave, but everyone will sympathize with her. She's youthful, strong, and a catch, so why should she be with you? Why go through all this trouble for the Order when we could get you a Portkey and send you to the States?"
A triumphant, nearly cruel gleam replaced the mirth in Sirius's eyes.
"Or is it the continent you were thinking of?" Sirius said, further provoking him. "So tell me, Moony, why is your dear fiancée keeping things from you? Why does she insist on taking you around Hogsmeade every weekend? Why—"
"—I've had enough," Remus growled. "Fuck off." He stormed out of the kitchen, half-sprinting to the front door, and started to turn on his heel to Disapparate, but realized he didn't know where to go.
He couldn't go back to Newcastle. He couldn't stay at headquarters. He had no one; not even Dumbledore would help or understand. He had no recourse left—he couldn't even fool Sirius. What could he do when Tonks's own father was relieved that Remus wasn't romantically interested in his daughter, and cautioned against such a horrifying relationship? Or, when Tonks was getting disgusting messages at her workplace over her association with him?
It was clear that the reason why she kept these things from him was out of shame, and her own good, steady conscience wouldn't let her back away from the promises she'd made to him and Albus.
If her own conscience wouldn't do it, his would.
Whatever Remus did, he knew he had to do it quickly.
