Spending weeks upon end with the werewolves, living as something less than human, was starting to inflict a morose loneliness upon you. Even amongst your own kind, you were an outcast. And perhaps better for it, you had never wanted to be like them, the savages. You’d be better off dead than working for Voldemort, eating meat nearly raw and fighting to the death with your friends every full moon. Even playing pretend was bad enough.
The rare times when it was possible to get away and sit in front of your own fire, watching the weather wreak havoc outside, just seemed to make you lonelier. There was no one to share this with, no one to comfort you as your depressing mood ate at you from inside. No one ever looked past first impressions.
It had been two months, now. Two months since you had said those words, told her to leave and to not come back. The self-sacrifice had been huge, but at least she was safe now. She would be happy enough, in time. You weren’t so sure about yourself, but at least now Nymphadora could go on to live a fulfilling life. She needn’t be burdened by you.
Sitting by the fireside with a mug of tea and a blanket around your shoulders, you thought back to that dreadful night. It had been the beginning of winter, a few weeks before Christmas. You had quarrelled over something petty, and it had turned into a full-blown fight.
Dora, don’t be ridiculous. You know you can’t stay here tomorrow night, anyway.
And why not? she had demanded, eyes blazing.
It’s not safe. All you had ever wanted to do was protect her. However, this was only one of the reasons you made her go to her own home that one night a month – the other was that you hated anyone seeing you like that. Especially her.
Remus, you’re being ridiculous.
No, I’m not. I can’t have you around, Dora. You know this.
It’s stupid, Remus. I’m old enough to protect myself. Besides, the Wolfsbane Potion makes you perfectly harmless! I’ve seen it before! Her anger had been almost frightening. Sparks had shot out the end of her wand, which was clutched tightly in her hand. However, you had remained firm.
You’re going home.
How long are you going to keep this up? The rest of our lives?
Why would you want to be around me that long?
Because I love you, you idiotic werewolf.
You shouldn’t, Nymphadora. You really shouldn’t.
What are you getting at, Remus?
It had hurt badly to say the words that came next. But you had to do it, despite the pain you inflicted on yourself, pain that was doubled when you saw her face fall. A tear slipped out the corner of her eye, and in that moment you questioned the sanity of what you were doing. But the truth remained. You were no good for her.
She was young. Falling in and out of love would surely happen several more times in her life – you may have been her first love, but you would not be her last. Still, the thought of her with another man made your chest tighten in fury and something akin to a growl rip from your throat. It echoed throughout the silent house, and you startled yourself so much that your teacup fell to the ground and shattered. The mess is cleaned up with a flick of your wand, but you feel foolish regardless.
For you, there was never going to be anyone else but her.
Standing up, you venture out into your backyard, where the air is at that chilly point between rain and snow. It’s been a cold winter, even colder since she left. You had endured two months of an empty spot beside you in bed, two months of seeing her unused toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom. Two months of reading something interesting late at night and raising your head to tell her, only to remember that she wasn’t there, and won’t be coming back.
You shivered as you wandered over to your fruit tree, the one that you and she had planted as a sapling a year ago. She had watered it eagerly, lovingly, even when it hadn’t needed it. It had survived all kinds of weather, and Nymphadora had been sure that it would finally bear fruit the coming spring. You couldn’t even remember what type of fruit tree it is.
The branches were completely bare at the moment, and they had tiny icicles hanging daintily off the ends. It looks all but dead, and you wondered if maybe you should chop it down. You probably would have, if it wasn’t for the tiny green shoot that caught your eye. It was small, pathetic looking, but it was there. Surviving somehow, despite the icy wind and lack of shelter.
So you left the tree there, just as you always would. Not all plants would survive the cold winter months, but the fruit tree would. When spring came, that little shoot would grow and blossom into beautiful colours and you would never know it had once been a dead, lifeless thing in the middle of winter.
Leaving the tree to itself, you went back inside to make yourself another cup of tea.
The cold continues, and so does your double life as one of Voldemort’s werewolf slaves. You haven’t seen Harry in a long time, and from time to time you miss him, just as you miss most people that the war has taken from you. But most of all, you miss her. From time to time you will see her in the Order headquarters, but one of you always makes your excuses to leave.
You don’t think you can take much more of this. It’s getting to you, tearing up your insides. You consider writing her a letter more than once, but your last vestiges of chivalry stop you. It isn’t fair to her – and if she came back into your life, eventually you would have to leave again. It was a horrible thing to doom someone to: life as the companion of a werewolf.
But as the cold air clears and the snow on the ground starts to melt, so do the ice chambers you’ve built around your heart. You’re through dealing with Voldemort’s werewolves, and Dumbledore has given you a well-earned break. However, with nothing left to do but sit around and wait for something to happen, the thoughts and feelings you were trying to avoid creep back in.
On the first day of spring, when there is nothing but a slight drizzle and the sun is peeking through the clouds, you sit down at your desk and take out a quill and parchment.
I’m sorry, Dora. Come back.
You tie it to your owl before you have second thoughts, and send the letter off into the midday sun before going outside to sit by the fruit tree and wait. You scold yourself for being hopeful. It’s been nearly three months. She would have moved on, found someone younger and better looking. Someone who could look after her. Someone who didn’t turn into a monster on a regular basis.
A week goes by, and you force yourself to forget about the letter, those five words that you thought would make everything better. You mull over it for hours on end, thinking how you could have phrased it differently, what might have changed her mind. Perhaps you should have said ‘I love you’. But that was surely a given, something she should already know. You feel more strongly for her than you have ever felt for anything. The friendships with Sirius and James (you refuse to think of Peter) have nothing on this, nothing on the all-encompassing feelings you have for her. Nymphadora Tonks. You savour the words, say her name aloud in your empty house. It just makes you feel more alone.
And then there is a knock on your door, and you open it to the most vivid being you have ever seen in your life. Her hair is bright pink, her eyes dark and twinkling, her heart-shaped face the same as it always was. Her lips twist into a half-smile, and you dare not blink as you take her in, joy and relief washing over you as she steps over the threshold into the house.
‘You’re an idiot, Remus,’ she tells you. But the smile remains, and you manage one back.
‘I know,’ you hear yourself say. ‘I can’t believe it took me so long to realise it.’
She takes your hand and leads you to the living room, starting to chat as if you hadn’t spent three months apart. Her voice surrounds you, and you feel the empty house come alive once more. She was right, you were an idiot. But no matter what would happen in the future, you were never going to make the same mistake. She was worth keeping. She was worth everything.
And outside, the fruit tree starts to turn green as the first of the blossoms appear.