There's been a steeliness to the tone of Order meetings over the last month or so, and it's not just the usual grey and damp of an English autumn crawling to a close that's got into us. Whatever the fuck is going on at the Department of Mysteries is grinding everybody down. I'm not immune either - the endless high-tension drudgery of these guard duties isn't unlike quite a lot of the routine Auror work that I do, but I hate that it's something only Ministry employees can do, because it means it's even more hours every week where there's no hope of spending any time with Remus.
Not that there would be any chance of that for the next few days anyway. I'm more aware of the moon than a bloody astronomer at this point, but even if I didn't know it was waxing to its fattest point, one look at Remus across this dining room table would be more than enough to tip me off. He looks paler even than usual, and he's so on edge - it's really subtle but I can see him reacting to every little noise or movement like it hurts him. It's like every muscle is braced for a shock.
He's wearing that greeny grey shirt, the one he was wearing when I first kissed him. I know it by heart now, I know where he's neartly darned it under the arm, the brightness of the fabric under the collar that shows that it was once all green and no grey, and the frayed fabric at the top of the collar where time and hard use has worn it down. I never even knew that a collar could wear away until I met him. I've got a nostalgic fondness for it, but makes him look iller than ever and I wish he'd let me buy him a whole bloody wardrobe of new shirts.
As if. I can already see the sad, resigned expression on his face if I did, like the humiliation of being clothed by his girlfriend was just one more blow life had dealt him that he'd have to roll with. This whole thing would be so much easier if he wasn't so fucking noble.
He hasn't shaved and I wonder whether it's because his skin is more sensitive as the full moon approaches. The light brown stubble glows in the candlelight and I wish I could stay with him tonight and feel that stubble on my body. But by tomorrow the stubble will be replaced by coarse, wiry fur and those beautiful eyes will be narrowed to yellow slits, and it's Sirius who'll be with him, like every month. I try to accept it graciously. Merlin knows there's a lot of things I get to do that Sirius would give his eyes to, like leaving this mausoleum of a house for a start, and he doesn't complain. Much.
But the irony of being a woman who can change her appearance to almost anything but can't change into the one thing that would keep her by the side of the man she loves is not bloody lost on me. I'd pour myself into working out how to become an animagus myself (with all that free time I've got, ha!) but I don't think it's what Remus wants anyway. He doesn't even like me touching his scars, he's not about to let me watch him transform.
I look up to see Snape staring at me with a look of leering contempt. It's more or less how he looks at me anyway, to be fair, and not that different from how he looks at everyone. It's a hell of lot better than how he looks at Remus and Sirius, or even poor Harry, like he's imagining disembowelling them in his potions dungeon for a laugh. But since I found out that he's a fucking legilemens his glares make me a whole new level of uncomfortable. I can actually feel myself blushing and I quickly morph it away (I might have gone too far and given myself a deathly pallor, hard to say without a mirror. Oh well, at least I'll match with Remus). I can feel Snape's disdainful glare on me still, and I wish I hadn't spent so long thinking about the places I'd like to feel the prickle of Remus's stubble against my skin, or at least that I'd stopped before I got to imagining it inside my thighs - shit, there I go again. This is mortifying.
Actually, the other stuff is even more mortifying for anyone to know about. After all, I'm Nymphadora "not at all frightened of dragons, extremely frightened of commitment" Tonks. My longest relationship has been five months and that ended because he wanted to move in together and I valued my independence waaaay more than the convenience of lower rent and sex on tap. I ought to be delighted at this guaranteed time with no personal commitments.
Do you know what, I am delighted. I've hardly seen my flat for two weeks and its a hell of a lot nicer than this place (or it would be if I could be arsed to clean it).
I might call up the girls, hit some bars with sticky floor and the kind of music Remus would definitely consider to be just noise, live a little, and I definitely won't think about how if Remus wanted to move in together then I'd say yes in a heartbeat and it wouldn't even be (or at least not only) because he knows how to clean and because sex on tap is more of an incentive when it's the best sex you've ever had in your life and the man gets you going so that you feel a pulsing throb between your legs whenever you look at him for too long...
SHIT, there I go again. I daren't look up in case I have to meet Snape's eye.
The meeting drags to a close at last and the best thing about that is that Snape sweeps out immediately, missing usual post-meeting chat and drinks. Molly isnt here today so Sirius is in charge which means there's much less tea and much more firewhisky, but there are some delicious welshcakes (made by Remus, of course), warm with butter on them. I'd love to stay but even though he's standing next to me as we chat to Emmeline, I can already feel Remus retreating into himself, bracing himself for a lonely world of pain where there's no room for me. I've got a night shift at the Ministry anyway (yawn) and then work all day tomorrow. I look at my watch, and drain my glass (of juice, I'm not stupid enough to go into a 20 hour period of costant vigilance with impaired response times) and cast around for my leather jacket.
"All right, this department of mysteries isn't going to guard itself," I say with false cheer, ending up sounding like my Dad. "See you all later". I return everyone's waves, touch Remus lightly on the arm, the kind of touch anyone might give a friend, and go out into the dark hall.
"Dora," his voice is soft behind me and reaches me just before I open the front door. Rather than risk waking Mrs Black, he cocks his head to beckon me into the library, where he gently shuts the door behind hs.
"I'm sorry to trouble you when you're on your way out," he says, earnest and pathologically polite the way he is when he's nervous.
"S'all right. I was going to walk to the Ministry to clear my head, but I've got loads of time if I apparate. What's up?"
"I - um - I'm sorry to have been distant today. I - I know you're busy so I completely understand if not..."
He trails off unhappily. I want to help him but this is ridiculous. "You're going to have to give me another clue, Remus. If not what?"
"I was wondering whether - I mean, as some of your things are here anyway - if you wanted to stay over the next few days. I'll be in the cellar, obviously, with Sirius to keep me company, and we spent today redoubling the security around it to make sure that - well, you know. Just in case you wanted to. Of course we wouldn't see each other. But if you wanted to stay, I'd be all right with it."
"Hmmmm. I dunno. I was planning to spend the time cleaning my flat, and you know how much I love doing that..."
What is the matter with me? The man is making himself vulnerable in a way which is excruciatingly difficult for him and my go-to is a stupid joke about cleaning? But, incredibly, it hasn't buggered things up. He cracks a tiny, tense smile and I quickly calculate the days and my upcoming work schedule.
"Course I'll stay over. I reckon I might have a night out with the girls tomorrow and not be back till dawn, but I'll come back here." I say this partly to stop him from getting spooked once I accept, and start trying to take it back, and partly because the more I think about it, the more I'm bloody spooked as well. I'm freaked out at how - there's no nice way to put it - much of a lovesick drip I've become and I want to check in with the part of me that knows how to have fun without a world-weary, middle-aged, impossibly reserved and preposterously charming werewolf around.
He's still staring at me like a rabbit in headlights, obviously terrified at what we've just agreed, and still not above taking it back, and so I say, firmly: "Sorted, then. I'll be around until ten in the morning after it's over, so if you're awake and you fancy a cup of tea, or a hug, or whatever, I'll be there."
His shoulders relax an infenitesimal amount (which is a hell of a lot better than no amount), but he says "I'd like that. But Dora, I'm not - I'm not a pretty sight in the immediate aftermath."
"Just as well I'm only with you for your immaculate taste in cardigans then, isn't it?" I can't help making another stupid joke, but I reach the back of my hand up to that beautiful, stubbled, exhausted face and stroke him gently, and I reckon he gets the point.
I'd better leave now before the temptation to get hot and heavy gets too much. He probably wouldn't say no, but he looks so unwell I'd be a bit worried that he'd collapse halfway through and that'd be a really awkward story to have to tell at St Mungo's.
"Thanks, Remus," I say, and kiss him (chastely, which is no mean feat) on the lips. "Hope it's okay. I can't wait to see you."
He nods, and catches my hand just as I'm about to remove it. He kisses it softly and watches me out of the door.