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A one-shot focused around a certain metamorphamagus and a werewolf. Pre-HBP
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Regret. Oh yes, that was a word she knew well enough. She knew it inside and out, and it hated her. Regret physically hated her. Nymphadora Tonks (but don’t you dare call her that) regretted ever falling for this man. The man that rarely looked at anyone these days, let alone her. She had all the boys looking her way, out of the corners of their eyes, but of course she could not love them. Not when HE seemed to casually spurn her lukewarm attentions.
She had her work, and that was arduous enough. In combination with her family and her friends and her responsibilities, her work should have overwhelmed her. It should have made her too tired to focus on anything else. But every now and again, her eye would wander his way, and she would notice how weary, worn, and drained he looked. She would noticed the disheveled state of his hair, the gray smatterings at his temples, and she would adore them. She would notice the bruised look about his eyes, and she would feel for him. She would notice the breadth of his shoulders beneath his thin, burgundy shirt, and she actually felt as though she would be sick. Perhaps the feeling was longing, but whatever it was, she had never asked for it, and had certainly never wanted to be the simpering little girl who trailed after an idol.
She noticed she acted more clumsy when around him. How typical; she was a brilliant young witch and yet she always managed to act like a fool in his presence. She would try to laugh it off, fix a broken plate here or there; she would leave a room quickly after he entered it, merely for feeling so flustered in his presence. She was always polite around him. She would smile thinly and reply to the best of her ability, trying not to be abrupt, terse, or hurtful. She did a little every day to distance herself from him, telling her body and mind it was better to do that than anything.
And slowly the intense passion behind her eyes died in his presence. With others, she was fine, he noticed. With him, she acted almost as though he had a contagious disease, which he might as well have. He felt pained when he saw her turn away from him. He felt not only pained, he felt rejected.
But Remus Lupin was used to rejection. He would simply sigh internally and continue with whatever he had been doing. The Weasleys wouldn’t notice, Harry wouldn’t notice, Hermione wouldn’t notice the looks they were never giving each other, the touches they avoided gracing each other with. If you think someone is in love and keeping it secret, simply watch for the one they treat with restraint, the one they are almost never alone with, and you will have your answer.
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It was summer; Harry, Hermione, and Ron were heading quickly into their sixth year, and Ginny was facing her fifth. Tonks was bravely facing a sinkful of breakfast dishes, after stupidly offering her services when Molly announced everyone would be cleaning the burden that was the Black House, at 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus had finally started to help clear the table, after nursing his third cup of coffee for a half an hour, waiting for a chance to catch her alone.
Tonks looked at him out of a corner of her eye, never wanting him to notice. She was never the type to stick her elbow in a butter dish when in the presence of someone she was in love with. She went more for the style of ‘pretend everything’s normal and maybe it will be again’ love. So far that plan was not treating her kindly.
Remus barely managed to breathe when she was in a room with him. She was magnetic. She was lithe, she was able, she was fair. She had energy and a relative grace, when she wasn’t falling over things. When she did fall, Remus would offer her a hand, and she would blush while getting to her feet. Then she would quickly take back her hand and Remus assumed he understood why.
Tonks looked, and saw he appeared tired. She took a bowl from his hands and thanked him. “You know, you don’t have to help me, Remus,” she said, smiling at the startled look he gave her; she’d interrupted the silence. “I’m alright, if you want to go help Molly and them. They could probably use your help and all,” she added, turning to put a glass in the soapy water.
“But I want to help you,” he said quietly. The glass slipped from her hand and splashed quietly into the suds. Damn, she thought. She should have used magic. It would have been more sensible, and it would have taken less time, and no one could have offered her help. But she’d grown up learning to do many things the Muggle way, what with her father being a Muggle.
She turned to look at him, ashen faced, and swallowed. “Suit yourself.” She smiled wanly.
“Are you alright?” he asked. “You look pale.”
She nodded. And he was sweet too, worrying about her when he obviously had worse problems on his hands. “Yeah. Just had a long day yesterday.”
“Oh? Care to talk about it?” He stacked some plates on the counter next to her.
She shrugged nonchalantly, trying to pluck the right phrases from her tumultuous thoughts. “I had a dumb, really dumb fight with my friend and I spent all night thinking about it. I have the infamous Black temper, after all,” she said sarcastically, trying not to be uncomfortable.
He smiled ruefully. “I know about that first hand. Sirius was a monster when he got riled up.” He sounded quite wistful, which was to be expected, with Sirius’ recent departure from the land of the living. “You were awake all night, you say? You could’ve come talked with me.” Tonks turned to him, with an unsure brow raised quite high under her long fringe. It was her favorite pink today, and the hair was straight and fell in choppy layers to her shoulders. It made her look young and mature at the same time. But she was young, Remus couldn’t help but think. “I came downstairs about three this morning, I think. I was hungry, but I couldn’t manage to eat anything.” He blinked twice, quickly, and looked away from her earnest face.
God, Tonks thought only she did things like that. She thought she got hungry and then couldn’t force a thing down her throat. “You should have had something to drink instead. That’s what I did.”
“Yeah?” Remus asked, intrigued about learning some new facet of Tonks.
“Moody’s not the only person around with a hip flask,” she said, smiling. She’d already managed to wash half the plates without breaking a one, and she was proud in spite of herself for being able to do that with him around. Remus picked up a towel and began to dry.
“Once we’re done with these, I expect you to share. If we get out of the kitchen quickly enough, Molly might not find us for awhile.” Tonks’ mind paused and she nodded slowly. He was thinking about something. She figured she should be warm, friendly enough to help him heal after Sirius’ death. Hell, she’d barely even known the man and she was torn apart by it.
“Oh, screw it,” she said, taking her wand out of her back pocket. She muttered something and all the plates began to sparkle with cleanliness and then flew into their proper places. The sink emptied of water and she turned to Remus. “That’s better,” she added, slipping her wand back into her pocket. She crossed her arms and began to walk to the door of the kitchen and into the hallway.
“Much. Still got both your buttocks?” Lupin asked, following her.
She turned, furrowing her brow. “Pardon?” She cocked an eyebrow. “You’re worried about my buttocks?”
Remus flushed. “Sorry, being around Moody’s affecting me worse than I thought it would.” Tonks smiled and nodded, suddenly remembering Moody’s warning against wands mixing with back pockets. She beckoned with one finger and they both peered around the doorway and, seeing no one, they then ran pell-mell into the library so they wouldn’t be spotted and forced to clean. Remus locked the door behind him, even putting a locking charm on it. “Just a precaution. I don’t want to clean any more than you do.”
Tonks crossed her arms again, peering at him as he sat down on the sofa. “You okay, Remus? With Sirius and everything?” She knew what he would say, but she needed to ask him anyway. She took a flask out of her other pocket and opened it, taking a guzzle and handing it to him; she was careful not to let their hands touch, knowing the shock it would send through her system.
“Mmm,” he said after he swigged a bit. It was strong stuff. Then he paused. “You know, not really.” He chuckled entirely too mirthlessly. “Not at all.” She was surprised by his honesty.
She sat on a rather large chair across from him. “Neither am I.” He took another drink.
“I’m a pretty cheap drunk, Tonks.”
She laughed with actual feeling for the first time that day. “Me too, Remus. You know,” she said, seeing fit to change the subject, “that’s a pretty mean scar on your hand, there. I don’t have any scars near that cool.”
His eyes looked at her candid face, searching for any sign of pity or sadness. He didn’t find any. “Here, look at this one on my knee,” he said, rolling up his gray pant leg a bit, so it uncovered his knee. It was a gash of sorts that ran along the side of his kneecap. He grimaced. “Self-inflicted stitches. That was a mistake.”
Tonks’ eyes brightened. “Wicked.” She lifted part of her t-shirt before either of them realized what she was doing. She sat up straighter and showed the side of her stomach, saying “Appendectomy,” by way of explanation. The scar was obviously old, but it stood out against her pale skin. Remus felt the image burn his eyes as she dropped her shirt back over her stomach, as he realized he’d probably been staring. He leaned forward and gave her the flask back.
Remus rolled up his left sleeve and pointed to his elbow. “Burn.” He looked abashed.
Tonks giggled and took a drink. “How do you burn only your elbow?” He shrugged. She pulled her pant leg up so her shin showed. “Fell out of a tree.” She pulled a face.
Next, Remus pointed to his forearm. “Bit myself,” he said soberly, in a way that said that‘d happened often.
She nodded and showed him the side of her neck, the part that had been under her hair. There was a round starburst shape along the nape of her neck. “Cursed by Death Eaters. Two of them. I won that time.”
Remus sighed. “Sirius lost, though, didn’t he?” Tonks did not reply. “He didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that sort of death. No one deserves having someone close to them die like that. He would have wanted to die fighting, sure, but he wouldn’t have wanted it to be like that.” Remus’ eyes looked suspiciously bright, but Tonks would never mention that to him. She did not shush him or try to quell his sadness; she had too much respect for him to do that. “I feel old, ‘cause I’m sort of the only one left. And that’s sad.”
“You’re not old, Remus,” Tonks said, leaning forward and sitting her elbows on her knees.
“Compared to whom? Even compared to you, Tonks, I am.” He really was a cheap drunk, he hadn’t been lying.
“I think I need to find you a girlfriend, mate,” Tonks said, trying not to sound bitter. She felt bitter. Her stomach hurt, too.
“No, that’s quite unnecessary, thanks,” Remus said. He sat his elbow on the arm of the sofa and placed his cheek in his hand.
“Unnecessary? Don’t be an ass, man.” Tonks stood up and moved to the couch, carrying the flask with her. She sat as far away from him as possible, not trusting herself with anything less. She crossed her legs beneath her and sat sideways on the couch, so she was facing him.
“I don’t need any more people around to take pity on me, thanks. I’m sure I do enough of that on my own.” He looked at her, seeing she wanted to continue in that vein of conversation. “Let’s just change the subject, Tonks.” She changed positions and folded her legs in front of her, drawing them to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Remus still faced forward.
She blinked slowly. “Fine. What’s your favorite swear word?” she asked abruptly.
He found nothing strange in this question. “Damnation. You?”
“Fuck,” she said, applying force to the word so it sounded almost angry. “Your turn for a question.” She laid her cheek on her knees.
“Uh… do you ever want to have kids?” He rushed through the question; he hadn’t been able to think of anything else.
“Yeah, they taste delicious. Very nice with soup or some crisps. You?”
“Eh. Sure. Dunno. Why think about it if it’s never gonna happen, right?” Tonks picked her head up sharply.
“Why?”
He laughed caustically. “I’d probably end up eating them, like you.”
“You would not. And I was only kidding.”
“I know. Your turn.”
“Er… favorite future occupation when you were younger?” Tonks sat her chin on her knees.
“Teacher. That turned out so well. You?” Remus continued to stare straight ahead.
“Bartender.” Tonks smiled as Remus finally turned to look at her.
“Bartender?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” Remus was quiet for a moment, as if contemplating something. His head had returned to facing forward.
“Favorite book?” Tonks asked next, seeing he wasn’t going to add anything.
He exhaled a little sharply, as if that was a supremely difficult question. “Goethe’s Faust.”
“Oh. Jane Eyre,” she replied. “Or The Little Prince.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Favorite meal?”
“Oh, that’s a hard one. Probably fish and chips. With strawberries.” Remus raised a brow.
“Roast beef and potatoes for me. With strawberries,” he added, trying not to smile. She rolled her eyes.
“Did you ever have an invisible friend when you were younger?”
Remus sighed. “No,” he said, noticing she did not say ‘imaginary friend.’ “Did you?”
“Nah. I think I scared them all away. I was a strange child,” Tonks said. Remus chuckled.
He then asked, “Do you ever wish you were younger?”
“All the time. Life wasn’t less complicated, exactly, but I think I appreciated it more. What about you?”
“No. Not anymore. I used to, until I realized my childhood was just as abysmal as my life is now.” Remus was quiet, not wanting to draw bitterness into his voice and risk pity or contempt.
Tonks scooted a little closer to him. “Remus,” she breathed. “That can’t be true.” She desperately wanted that to not be true. She didn’t want to hear that perhaps she had contributed to a life that was terrible She didn’t want to hear she could have prevented someone’s sadness.
“Tonks, stop and think for a moment. Just think about it.” He’d turned to look at her again, and his face had such potent intensity on it that she had to close her eyes. It was the cliché that was his life, he thought. He knew people cared for him and he constantly wondered why.
“You’re not happy?” she said, almost managing to sound as miserable as he often felt.
His eyes met hers and he smiled. It was a very small smile, but it was genuine. “There are times that aren’t bad. We all have hardships.” Tonks quietly agreed. She was now directly next to him, with her toes almost touching his thigh where it sat on the sofa. She put her hands underneath her folded-up knees.
“Remus?” she asked, scooting even closer and pulling her legs under her so that she could face forward as he was. Her stomach hurt. His forearm was resting on the arm of the sofa and he was drumming his fingers as though distracted. Her bicep barely touched the shirt that graced his other arm. He felt tingles. She still felt slightly ill, but she was beginning to enjoy it.
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever been in love?” Damn. She’d actually said it.
Remus wondered what sort of demon has possessed her to ask such a thing. If she only knew how on the mark she was, he thought wryly. He looked at her, but only managed to see the side of her head and her straight, pink hair. “Yes. Tonks. And yourself?”
She slowly turned to look at him, with a very small and daring smile teasing at her lips. “Yeah,” she replied, seeing his look of intent interest. “Yeah.”