A/N: CW: suicidal ideation/suicide notes. I will promise you now that this story has a happy ending, but our characters have to work for it. This chapter also goes from Remus's POV to Tonks's. The next one will be in reverse, starting with Tonks and ending with Remus.

...

The park facing Grimmauld Place was shady enough to obscure Remus's hiding place from anyone peering through the windows. He stood under the shadowy trees, his eyes trained on the door of Number Twelve, with a dull throb radiating across his chest from where Sirius had hit him. His fingers reached up to gently rub the pain away, but it only made the ache worse.

You've got to see her, said the little voice in his head. You've got to say something.

It was already dark, well past sunset, and Remus should've been there before dinner. He'd Apparated away from Devon after the earful from Sirius, and then spent the last few hours wandering the streets of London, unable to make a decision. His walk had led him back to Grimmauld Place, and as he watched the lights come on and off from all the homes, he could only think of his cowardice.

Go, his mind insisted.

With legs that felt like they were made of wood and his palms clammy against his sooty robes, he began the walk from under the trees to the stoop leading up to the front door of Number Twelve. Each step felt heavier than usual, but when he palmed the serpentine doorknob, the home admitted him, unaware of the sins of its lycanthropic resident. His steps left creaks echoing in the corridor. He approached the staircase, hearing a faint shuffling in the kitchen below and heavy clunking above.

Taking a deep breath, he ascended the stairs, the clunking growing louder as he got to his bedroom. The door was ajar, and when he rounded the landing, he could see the flurry of activity within. Tonks, mousy-haired and pink-nosed, was throwing her things into a suitcase.

It serves you right.

His shaky, sweaty hand rapped on the door.

"Not now, mum," Tonks snapped, shoving her robes forcefully into the magically expanded suitcase.

"It's me," Remus said quietly.

Tonks whipped around, her facial expression changing from rage to misery in mere seconds, as a sob ripped through her lips. Remus stood, frozen in place, unsure of what she needed. Her hand shot out to one of the posters of their bed, steadying herself as she wept and tried to speak. Remus's mind went fuzzy, aching between the desire to wrap her in his arms and hold her until she was better, and the instinct to run off and never be seen again.

"H-h-how—how could you?"

Remus parted his lips, but couldn't find any intelligible words.

"You want to break up with me? Leave me and our baby?"

"No—"

Tonks marched up to him and pushed him back, hard, her fingers digging deep into his chest. "You selfish bastard! After all I've done for you—after all we've been through—"

"Listen—"

"No, you listen!" Tonks pushed him back again, slamming his back against the tall armoire. "We're done. I should've never married you. I should've listened to you from the beginning and never let you into my life."

All of Remus's nightmares were coming true. It had been easy to imagine the inevitable breakup; it was worse in reality, with Tonks's face blotchy and red and her cheeks stained with tears. He could barely stand being with her that moment—but then again, he could barely stand being himself.

"I'm leaving, Lupin." Tonks's voice was shaky and heavy. Her fists were balled at her sides and her chest and shoulders heaved with her desperate, tearful breaths. "Mum and I are moving out. This hellhole is yours now."

"Wait," Remus gasped, watching her stomp back to the suitcase to slam it shut and charm it to zoom out of the bedroom. "Please, wait." She trudged up to him, her eyes still leaking with angry tears.

"What?"

But try as he might, he couldn't find anything to say. He couldn't beg her to stay, despite how much his heart wanted her. He wanted to apologize, tell her it was for the best, but he knew she wouldn't listen. He needed to tell her he loved her and that letting her go was agonizing, but keeping her tied to him was criminal.

Silence was all he could manage.

"Just as I thought," Tonks snarled, and slammed the door behind her. Remus was stuck in place, paralyzed by fear, and heard the portrait shriek as Tonks rounded the stairs with her bulky suitcase.

A sudden, terrifying thought crossed his mind: they hadn't spoken about the pregnancy.

Remus found the use of his limbs and sprinted out of the bedroom, ignoring Walburga's screeching, and rushed down to the kitchen, taking the stairs in twos and threes. He tumbled, falling down a flight of stairs, but got up, going in the direction of the voices. He had to know that Tonks was going to get rid of the abomination, to erase the mistake they'd made and give herself the freedom to live a life without burdens.

Tonks was halfway in the Floo when Remus burst through the kitchen door, sweaty and breathless.

"Wait—don't—" he panted, holding his hands to his knees. "Don't—go. Need—to talk."

"Mum," he heard Tonks say, "you go first. I'll meet you there." Remus heard Andromeda call out for Sirius's new home, and she vanished in the flames. Reaching out for the nearest chair, Remus held himself up and wheezed.

"The—the pregnancy," he rasped, gesturing at her abdomen. "What—what are you doing?"

Tonks's chin quivered. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. "It's none of your business."

"You're—taking care of it?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"It's—"

"None of your business," Tonks finished. Her hands came up to her face, wiping tears away from her cheeks, and she turned around completely, hugging herself tightly. "You're not going to be a father, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh."

A pitiful sound emerged from Remus's throat. He and Tonks had created a monster, and yet, an unbidden image sprung into his mind. He saw himself holding a perfect bundle, and reaching out, letting a tiny, chubby hand wrap around his finger. A sudden, inexplicable sense of loss thundered through him, adding to the anguish of letting Tonks go, the force of grief bringing him to his knees.

"You know," Tonks said shakily, as her body quaked before him, with her back all he could see, "I was so damn happy. I didn't know I wanted a . . . I wanted this . . . until now." She trembled, walking further away, back toward the fireplace. "I never want to see you again, Remus Lupin. When you die—"

She let out a sob and grabbed onto the mantle for support. Remus stared helplessly, his body slumped on the floor, as his knees had given out and he couldn't move.

"—when you die, I hope you're as miserable and lonely as I feel now. I'm sure you will," she said, a wail tearing through her lips, "you don't know how else to be." Remus had his face up, giving him just enough of a view to see Tonks grab a handful of Floo powder, toss it in the flame, and disappear, taking the fire and warmth with her.

The days that followed Tonks and Andromeda's moving out were spent in a near-catatonic fugue. Remus was hardly aware of the time or daily rhythm of life.

His appetite had all but disappeared, and the few morsels left behind in the kitchen were enough. He didn't venture down there very often. It reminded him too much of Tonks, and the last conversation they had there, so he took what little food there was to one of the spare bedrooms, where he'd created a nest for himself.

He couldn't go back to the room he shared with Tonks. The other room still smelled of Buckbeak, who was renamed Witherwings, and lived happily in Devon, joining Sirius, Harry, Andromeda, and Tonks.

Neither books nor writing interested Remus. For the first time in weeks, he felt no urgency to find a job, or anything associated with earning money. He stopped showring the day after Tonks left. He couldn't see the point, as there was no one to see. He'd sent a Patronus message to Dumbledore, indicating he felt too ill to attend the next Order meeting, and then passed the night by drinking himself into unconsciousness.

To his bafflement and heart wrenching dismay, it was not his wolf that emerged from his wand, but a winking jackrabbit, taunting him in his misery.

Nobody came to see him. He knew it was what he deserved, but the soul-crushing isolation cut more deeply than it had in '81, when the Potters died. Then, he'd had his father to lean on. Now, he'd burned one too many bridges. He almost missed Kreacher, if only to have a sentient being to talk to, but the elderly elf was sent to Hogwarts.

Silence and darkness were Remus's only companions, and despite the affirmation each time he woke that he'd find a way forward, he discovered that he didn't know what forward meant anymore. Once, it meant distant hope for a mediocre life; he'd planned on drifting from job to job until his body failed him, but then Dumbledore asked him to teach. He thought he'd regain a boyhood friend and help the Order, or die trying. Instead he'd spent a year in the most wonderful dream, where he was loved and married.

Lonely mediocrity had been bliss. He knew better now. He'd been given a taste of married life and a family—he'd even had a moment, the briefest, loveliest moment—of imagining his child in his arms. On a particularly dark, stormy day, he'd entertained the notion of going to Sirius's, simply to see Tonks's face again, to remind him of the future he'd borrowed and had to return.

Remus lay in his nest, a pile of dusty blankets on an equally dusty rug, and blinked tiredly at the newspaper clippings that decorated the floor. They were job postings, each one, and as he wondered over the merits of just pissing himself on the floor and vanishing the mess away, he found he couldn't muster the will to bother with any of those jobs. What was the point, when his bones broke apart every month and there was almost no one left who cared that he survived another moon?

Even those who did care, or who purported to care, like Dumbledore, had better things to do. Remus released his breath as he wet himself. His pants and the filthy blankets beneath him grew warm and wet. He hated himself a little more in that moment, as he grunted to reach for his wand. His charm work was passable—the stench of stale urine hung around—but at least he was dry.

The sun's rays—sunrise, based on where the light was coming from—bathed the room in faint golden yellow. Remus turned over, his back facing the light, and pondered, not for the first time, if it wouldn't be so bad if he didn't survive the next full moon.

Dry heaving into a cauldron was nowhere near as easy as Tonks once remembered. Long gone were the days of her carefree youth, when she'd get pissed on cheap gin in the Hufflepuff common room and wake up to a hangover that she'd work through during Binns's history classes. Those days were in her past. Now she woke up, reached for the battered cauldron at her bedside, and vomited into it until her body gave her a moment's rest.

Pregnancy was nothing like a hangover.

Tonks coughed and wiped her lips with her sleeve, leaving a yellowish stain on her pale blue shirt. Her breasts were sore and her abdomen crampy, but the physical discomfort was minor, compared to her broken heart.

"Nymphadora?" called Andromeda, poking her head through the door. "Your potions arrived."

"Mmm."

"Should I bring them to you?"

"Please."

Andromeda's head disappeared. Tonks groaned and grabbed the hairbrush on her nightstand. Whether it was the pregnancy or her heartbreak, she had difficulty morphing her features and needed a brush to control her unruly hair. Her eyes drifted toward the calendar in her new room at Sirius's. It had been almost two weeks since she'd ended her marriage. Remus hadn't said anything, or even written a letter, and as much as Tonks wanted to see him, it was better that she stay away. If she looked at him, she was sure she'd change her mind and try to forgive him.

A twinge of guilt bothered her conscience. The full moon had been the night before and Remus spent it alone. Sirius was livid and refused to go anywhere near Grimmauld Place. There was nowhere else to go, Tonks assumed, and a part of her worried that Remus might've left to find the werewolves. She'd gone so far as to ask her mother to get Kreacher to check in on Remus, and the old elf reported that "the half-breed was in a pile of his own filth," but that was before the full moon.

"I should check on him," she mumbled to herself, knowing how stupid she sounded. He'd ruined everything, he'd wanted to abandon her and their baby, and he deserved every bit of pain he got because of how he'd hurt her.

Nevertheless, after she took the potions that arrived that morning, there would be no baby. She could at least tell him, face-to-face, that there was nothing holding them together anymore.

The door creaked open and Andromeda arrived with a tray full of potions and a stack of buttered toast.

"You'll take two now," she said, pushing the grey bottles toward the front, "and two at dinner. By this time tomorrow, you won't have to think about this anymore." Andromeda kissed Tonks's forehead and produced a cool cloth to wipe away the sticky sweat she'd collected along her face and neck.

"Side effects?" Tonks picked up a bottle and read the litany of warnings, frowning at how long the list was. "If I get a quarter of these effects, I'll miss Harry's party and have to use one of my sick days tomorrow."

Andromeda pursed her lips. "Darling, didn't you say you wanted to take care of this as soon as possible?"

Tonks took a slice of toast and nibbled on it. "I did . . . but it can't hurt to wait a few days?"

"The longer you wait, the worse the side effects can be," warned Andromeda. Tonks frowned and glanced out the window. It was Harry's sixteenth birthday and Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and the Weasley twins were already at the house, feeding Buckbeak a hearty breakfast.

"Let me wait till the weekend," Tonks said, pointing her nose at the window. "I can still fly. I want to make the most of getting today off." Andromeda sighed and put the potions on the windowsill.

"You've been stalling."

Tonks felt the knee-jerk denial rising from her gut, but her mother would know better.

"What do you want me to say?"

"The man is unfit to be a parent, let alone a spouse. It will be hard enough to get him to cooperate with the divorce proceedings. Imagine if you had to share custody of a child with him. You wouldn't receive a Knut or a minute of support."

Deep in her heart, Tonks wanted to disagree. When she'd found out she was pregnant, she was terrified, but she'd seen a happy little family at St. Mungo's, and the new father holding his baby girl led Tonks to picture Remus holding their baby. More images came to her mind, of Remus reading to their child, of Tonks taking them on a broom, and of bouts of accidental magic. All at once, the hunger to have a child overcame her and she couldn't wait to tell Remus.

That's what she'd wanted, at least until she'd learned Remus wanted to end their marriage by making Sirius his guardian. How much clearer could he make it, going through the change behind her back? The facts spoke for themselves: Remus had used her, played with her heart, and left her alone and pregnant without a second thought.

She'd deluded herself into thinking he was capable of commitment, but she should've listened from the get-go. Remus Lupin was a broken shell of a man and he'd never be anything more.

"You can wait until the weekend," Andromeda said gently, bringing Tonks's attention back to the present. Conjured tissues made their way into her hands. She hadn't noticed the tears falling down her face. "Eat something, get ready, and join us in the kitchen. Molly's coming soon, she's always kind to you." Tonks nodded her assent.

Andromeda left, and the twinge of guilt returned more heavily to Tonks's mind. She couldn't put words to it; an overwhelming feeling of dread filled her. She'd never been one to believe strongly in premonitions, but this feeling chilled her to her very bones.

It was the height of foolishness to go after a man who clearly didn't want her. It was reckless stupidity to want to speak to a man who might've loved her, once, but was so broken he was incapable of doing anything but destroying his happiness and dragging everyone down with him. It was lunacy, all of it, but as Tonks searched through the neatly folded, clean clothes at the foot of her bed, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

At worst, she'd make a fool of herself again. At best, she'd have a civil conversation with the werewolf who had shattered her heart and turned her life upside-down. With her shirt half-buttoned and her socks hanging off her feet, she slid into the dining room, where Sirius and her mother were bonding over posh, whole bean coffee.

"Nymphadora!" Andromeda said loudly. "Where are you going?"

Tonks grunted as she put her boots on. "Forgot something at the office."

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

"It's Harry's birthday gift," she lied, hiding her face in her long, mousy brown hair. "I won't be more than twenty minutes."

"I'm sure he can wait—"

"Mum," Tonks pled, straightening her spine. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to the Ministry and back."

Andromeda grumbled but let her go. Tonks walked out to the edge of the property, waving briefly at Harry and his friends, and spun on the spot.

She landed on the top step of Grimmauld Place, which was darker than she remembered. Not a single light was on.

I must be losing my mind, Tonks thought to herself, as she turned the serpent-shaped doorknob. The door opened for her, and while the gas lights turned on at her arrival, there was no sign of life. The stifling silence made her skin crawl.

"Remus?" she called out, feeling stupider by the second. It was after the full moon. If he was here, he'd be in bed, she figured, and she took the stairs carefully so as not to wake him. She didn't know what she'd say if he was awake; she simply hoped she'd see he was managing after a moon alone.

Each step filled her with an increased sense of foreboding. She had the urge to retch when she reached the top floor, where she and Remus had shared a room, but she held the bile back. The door was ajar, and a single peek through the gap didn't show anything.

Tonks pressed the door open, confused when the room was empty and clean. It didn't appear as if anyone was living in it anymore. She was about to turn around when something shiny caught her eye. There was something small and golden on one of the pillows, and Tonks took her wand out in case it was unfriendly. As she got closer, the small object turned out to be a ring—Remus's wedding ring—which lay on top of a folded piece of parchment.

Tonks's worry grew exponentially. She unfolded the parchment, dropping the ring on the floor with a clatter, and gasped.

To whoever finds this:

I never wanted to hurt her. I loved Nymphadora more than I loved anyone. I failed her. I failed everyone. I won't be a bother anymore. I hope she will forgive me one day, when she has someone who can love her the way she deserves. Her children will be healthy and I'll be a distant memory.

I'm sorry.

Remus J. Lupin