The Black ancestral home was a gloomy dwelling. Remus had lived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place for two weeks, finding little to recommend it. The only advantage to living with a rabid portrait, a vile house elf, and an escaped, irritable ex-convict, among other unfortunate disasters, was its cost. Remus paid nothing to eat or live at the newly designated headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. In exchange, he roomed with Sirius and played host to Order members, new and old.
He'd been exhausted but alert at the first meeting, held mere hours after the murder of Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff champion. The next day, he moved his scant belongings into his new London home and got to work with Sirius to purge the home of all its abominable holdings.
Later that evening, he wrestled with a set of cursed drapes, which tried to choke him to death. Having barely escaped with his life, Remus stormed to the kitchen to find something to drink.
"Next time you send me to 'clean,'" he roared at Sirius, as he stomped downstairs to the basement, "have the decency to be there before this house kills me!"
Remus instantly shut his mouth when he found that Sirius wasn't alone in the kitchen. Dumbledore, clad in his resplendent, periwinkle robes, looked back at him.
"Er, hello Albus," said Remus. "I wasn't expecting you. Is something wrong?"
"Come sit, Moony," Sirius said, tapping his hand on the table. "There's news."
He frowned and joined Sirius and Dumbledore at the table.
"Remus, do you know who Dolores Umbridge is?" asked Dumbledore.
A knot settled in Remus's stomach. "Yes," he replied, gritting his teeth. "She's the reason I'm unemployable."
"Miss Umbridge has a particular disdain for werewolves, I'm afraid, and is using a new piece of legislation to further her agenda."
Dumbledore pulled out a thick roll of parchment and unfurled it to a spot heavily marked with cross-outs, rewrites, and notes in the margins.
Remus began reading through the first lines, but found it illegible past "Ministry wards."
"Does this say he needs to be adopted?" Sirius said, his head tilted toward the parchment. "That can't be right."
"This new piece of legislation has been crafted by Miss Umbridge to limit the movement and freedom of magical creatures," Dumbledore explained, shifting the roll of parchment to the top. "Among other things, it reduces centaurs' land rights, gives wizards more power to punish uncooperative house elves, and lastly, attempts to eliminate the werewolf population."
"E-eliminate?" Remus said blankly. "As in…?"
"All registered lycanthropes who are unclaimed by their families by the 31st of December, 1995, will become wards of the Ministry," read Sirius, his brow knit together tightly. "Unregistered lycanthropes without any affiliation will be subject to life imprisonment at Azkaban for the safety of the wizarding population."
"What does that mean?" Remus asked, the pit in his stomach growing heavier by the second. "'Unclaimed by their families?'"
"It means that if your parents, children, spouse, or other relative fail to claim you as their personal responsibility," Dumbledore replied, "thereby making themselves liable for your safety, the Ministry has the right to make itself responsible for you. In short, the policy is written to make abandoned werewolves subject to the Ministry and its whims. Miss Umbridge has expressed her interest in placing werewolves in secure encampments."
"That's just prison," Sirius scoffed. "That's a softer name for prison."
Remus gripped the edges of the table, feeling the wood splintering underneath his fingertips. "What happens if I don't—" He considered trying to hunt down his mother's Muggle relatives, as his father and his family were long dead. Hope Lupin might've had a cousin or two. "—I don't have anyone."
Sirius frowned and brushed his recently cut hair out of his face, pointing to one of the most heavily marked sections. "What if he got married?"
Of all the things Remus had heard in the last few minutes, the most absurd was the suggestion he get married. He'd be sent off to a werewolf prison to die before he found anyone willing to marry him.
"This is what I came to propose," Dumbledore said, as Remus blinked at him stupidly. "I may be able to find you a wife, Remus."
Remus gawked at him. Dumbledore's expression was as calm and grave as it had been the night before, at the Order meeting.
"This isn't the first time the Ministry has had a policy like this. It's why Miss Umbridge has argued successfully for its adoption. The last time werewolves were bound to the Ministry or their families, it lasted three years. Before then—" Dumbledore pulled out another roll of parchment from his seemingly bottomless robe pocket. He unrolled it, his electric blue eyes moving rapidly from behind his half-moon spectacles. "—13 years, two years, and 19 years. There's no guarantee of how long this one will last."
"It wouldn't have to be a permanent marriage, or even a real one," Sirius said slowly, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "But it could be."
"Indeed. I have every reason to believe this measure will pass," Dumbledore said, looking directly at Remus. "But I sincerely doubt it will be lasting. I may be able to find someone for you to marry, and you can quietly separate when the policy is reversed."
"You won't find anyone."
Remus's tone was quiet and restrained. Dumbledore and Sirius kept their eyes on him.
"I'm not going to marry anyone. No one—no one—wants me, even if it's a sham. I'll only ruin their lives."
"Moony—"
"—no," Remus said. "I'll go to the bloody Ministry camp, or whatever it is they'll call it, and wait until the policy's reversed."
"Remus," Dumbledore said emphatically. "Allow me to find a solution. There's no need to risk your life. You are an asset to the Order, and you know Harry will need our support."
Remus groaned into his hands and rubbed his tired eyes. "Fine," he conceded. "If you say so."
Dumbledore tapped his wand on the Ministry measure and it wrapped itself into his pocket.
"I'll try to find someone by next week, before the Weasleys arrive." Dumbledore stood and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Goodnight to you both."
He disappeared into the flames. Unwilling to entertain whatever Sirius would have to say, Remus dashed out of the kitchen to fume alone in his room.
The measure was approved in the Wizengamot three days later. It passed with just barely enough votes, but it was now law and failure to comply would result in a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Remus had until the 31st of that year to submit to the Ministry. If he submitted, he'd be forced to surrender his wand and live under their control wherever they deemed was appropriate for werewolves.
The other option was marriage. The new law allowed werewolves to be 'claimed' by a non-lycanthropic family member, who would be responsible for their welfare. Remus had no surviving family members. He had no parent, sibling, or other relative alive to vouch for him.
Nor did he have hope that someone would be willing to marry him. Even with Albus Dumbledore on his side, the task seemed impossible.
He resigned himself to helping the Order for six months. He'd then hand his freedom, wand, and survival over to the Ministry.
"Moony!"
Remus dropped the cursed snuffbox he'd picked up, as it started biting him.
"REMUS!"
Sirius arrived in the parlor with his arms crossed and a frown.
"What?" Remus barked. He set the snuffbox on fire and let it smolder at his feet. "Sorry—didn't mean to—"
"—I don't give a toss about any of these things," Sirius said, gesturing around him. "You're needed in the kitchen. Dumbledore's here."
"Tell him I'm not interested."
"If you don't come down, I'm sending him up."
"I'll leave, then."
"And go where, exactly?" Sirius snapped. "Back to that hovel on the moors?"
Remus glared at Sirius and growled.
"Fine."
He smacked Sirius in the shoulder on the way out of the parlor. He suspected he knew what Albus would say; there was no way he'd found anyone willing to marry a werewolf.
As he anticipated, Dumbledore was alone in the kitchen.
"Thank you, Remus, for joining me," he said, once Remus sat down. "Care for a Lemon Drop?"
"No thanks."
Dumbledore popped one into his mouth and smiled.
"I've found you a wife."
Remus scratched the inside of his ear and closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head at Dumbledore.
"Come again?" he said, his voice cracking.
"There's a witch who is open to marrying you. She'd like to meet you."
"A…witch?"
"Unless you prefer a wizard?" Dumbledore said, quirking his eyebrow. "That may help—"
"—it doesn't matter," Remus said hastily. "If it's fake, I don't care."
"You prefer witches, yes?"
Remus threw his hands up. "It hardly matters if it's not a real marriage, Albus."
Dumbledore's jaw twitched slightly. "It will be easier to convince others it's not a sham if you marry someone you could be plausibly attracted to, which is why the witch in question isn't twice your age."
Despite himself, Remus was intrigued.
"Do I know her?"
"I don't believe so. Sirius only knew of her, and she says she doesn't know either of you, but she'd like to." Dumbledore popped another Lemon Drop into his mouth. "She'll be joining the Order soon."
Remus felt his fists clench. He couldn't count the number of times a witch tried to use him to get to Sirius instead. This could be the only reason someone would agree to marry him: to get to the real prize, a handsomer, healthier wizard.
"She's related to Sirius," Dumbledore continued, as Remus forced his fists to unclench. "His cousin Andromeda's daughter, Nymphadora."
Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "A pureblood?"
"No, as her father is a Muggleborn. Andromeda's family disowned her when they married." Dumbledore pierced Remus with his gaze. "I'm not asking you to marry her tomorrow. You should meet one another first."
"If she refuses?" Remus asked shakily. "As any reasonable person should?"
"Give her a chance." Dumbledore dug into his pocket and pulled out a note written in his neat, looping script. It held an address in London and a time later that night. "Her hair will be pink."
Remus was taken aback. "Pink?"
"Do let me know how it goes," Dumbledore said, with an air of finality. "I've got an End of Term address to deliver."
He glided to the other side of the kitchen and went through the fire.
Remus stared down at the address and sighed, feeling sorry for whatever poor soul had agreed to Dumbledore's crackpot idea.
The Muggle pub he'd been directed to wasn't far from the Ministry's visitor entrance. He wondered if the witch called Nymphadora worked there. After his meeting with Dumbledore, Remus asked Sirius if he knew anything about her, and he'd shaken his head, only knowing that Andromeda's daughter was at least ten years their junior.
It made Remus uncomfortable, thinking of himself with a much younger witch, even in name only. Perhaps she wasn't very bright, and that's how Dumbledore had fooled her into considering marriage to a werewolf.
He got to the pub early and ordered a drink, his anxiety building as the time approached for the meeting.
A mousy-haired young woman came to see him.
"Wotcher!" she said, smiling. "Is this seat taken?"
"Oh, er—" Remus glanced around her. If he wasn't meeting Nymphadora, he'd have been flattered to have someone ask to sit with him, given his patched, shabby clothing. "—I'm meeting someone. I'm sorry, miss."
"Very polite," the young woman said, after tripping into the seat across from him. He noticed that she wore a badger pin on her jumper. After setting her rucksack on the floor, she stuck her hand out for him to shake, scarcely missing toppling over Remus's drink. "I'm Tonks."
"It's nice to meet you," said Remus, keeping his tone apologetic, "but I really am meeting someone."
"I know, Remus," she said with a grin, taking him by surprise. "I told Dumbledore to tell you I had pink hair, but that would've given me away. You stopped to check your reflection in front of the bookshop, considered turning around by the Indian café, and ordered a Guinness. Good choice, by the way."
"You—you're Nymphadora?"
"Don't call me that. It's Tonks." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and got up from the table.
"Wait," Remus said, afraid he'd offended her. "Don't go."
"I'm just getting a drink." She lifted a brow at him, turned around, and went up to the bar.
Remus took a look at her rucksack. It had a Hufflepuff badge sewn onto it, giving him a clue of who she was. A Weird Sisters pin sat next to it, as did a rainbow-shaped pin. He saw scarlet fabric hanging out of the bag, with what appeared to be a Ministry crest on the sleeve.
"I'm an Auror." Tonks had returned. She set her pint glass on the table, eyeing Remus carefully. "Qualified last year. I was Mad-Eye's last trainee."
"Alastor Moody?"
"The one and only." She lifted her drink and they toasted to the famous, grizzled Auror. "So…what did he tell you about me? Dumbledore?"
Remus took a moment to take in the witch sitting with him. Everything he'd assumed about her was wrong—she was obviously clever and talented, if she was an Auror. She was younger and prettier than he anticipated. He'd expected she'd be unfortunate looking (not that it mattered for a fake marriage, he reminded himself). If she was homelier or plainer, it might explain why she was willing to marry a werewolf. Tonks was none of these things; she had taken him entirely by surprise.
"Almost nothing," he said, entranced by the way her eyes seemed to shift color against the dim light of the pub. "He told me you're Sirius's cousin's daughter. Your mother was disowned for marrying your father…and you're younger."
"I'll be 23 this year."
Remus pressed his lips together. Dumbledore had said he needed to be plausibly attracted to his fake wife, but had he given any thought to her plausible attraction of him? Why would a young, talented witch want anything to do with him?
"I know more about you," she said, taking a swig from her drink. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and then rested her chin in her palm. "Welsh, Muggle mum, British, wizard dad, bitten and registered at four, Gryffindor prefect, resigned from the Defense post a year ago, and now you're looking for a wife."
Not only was she a keen observer, but she'd found his records somewhere in the recesses of the Ministry and memorized their contents.
"I wouldn't say I'm looking for a wife," he replied delicately, conceding to all the other facts she'd listed about him. "Dumbledore thought it best."
"You'd rather go to Umbridge's torture camp?"
"N-not when you put it that way, no." Remus adjusted his collar, feeling uncomfortably warm. "I thought the policy could be overturned? Before the year's end?"
"Mad-Eye said you were clever."
The way she phrased her comment irritated him. Did she think he was stupid? He decided to turn the question on her.
"You understand the stakes of being associated with me, don't you?" he dared, his confidence returning when she sat up straighter. "Even if we were friendly with each other, your reputation would suffer."
"I was hoping you'd have something more to say." Tonks's eyes seemed to darken, but they twinkled merrily in their darkness. "I don't think I'll get bored with you."
One of the corners of Remus's mouth came open as he stared at her, unable to understand what game she was playing.
"Now that I've had my fun," she added, with a wink, "we ought to talk about that marriage business."
Remus was beginning to think that while Tonks was clever, pretty, and talented, she might be as mad as Mad-Eye.
"Why are you doing this?"
Tonks stretched her hands over her head and rolled her shoulders.
"Dumbledore and Mad-Eye asked if I could help," she replied, shrugging. "I said okay."
"You're going to ruin your life as a favor?"
"Who said anything about a ruined life? I thought you'd be more grateful." She took another big gulp of her beer, finishing it, and set the glass down. "I didn't come here to argue with a stranger. I came here to meet someone I thought needed my help. If you don't want my help and you'd rather die at Umbridge camp, be my guest."
She grabbed her rucksack, stood rapidly, and knocked her chair over. She groaned, bending over to right it, but her bag came open and its contents came falling down to the floor.
Remus, initially shocked by her brusqueness, felt a surge of guilt for ruining the opportunity Dumbledore arranged for him. He got down to the floor, gathered the mysterious, feminine items that had fallen, and handed them over to Tonks.
"Thanks," she muttered, as he gave her the last of what he thought were sanitary towels. She sat back on her heels, her cheeks tinged with pink, and grabbed the edge of the table to steady herself. She met Remus's gaze and turned away. "Well, now that I've sufficiently embarrassed myself, it's time for me to go. Good luck with…whatever it is you'll do."
She stood, as did he, and the uneasy guilt churned further in his stomach.
"Tonks, I'm sorry," he said. "Let's try this again. Even if we don't agree to anything, I'm sure we'll see more of each other in the near future."
Tonks smiled at him and returned to her seat. "Do you know how to play 20 Questions?"
Remus shook his head in response.
"We'll start with that. Pick an object, don't tell me what it is, and I'll try to guess in twenty questions or less. Got it?"
Remus took a moment to think of his item—a snuffbox—and agreed to playing the game.