sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:51 pm
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-08 03:51 pm
Entry tags:
Amid My Solitude, 1 of 7
Rating: R (Remus/Tonks)
Summary: Remus attempts to understand his growing relationship with Tonks as he comes to leadership in the Order and explores his werewolf heritage.
Warnings: Some gore, especially in the later chapters.
Notes: I owe much gratitude to the LJ crowd, who put up with my miscellaneous postings of snippets from this work for weeks; also to the Y!M regulars for letting me bounce ideas off them. Special thanks to Judy, Jill, Tai, and Yap, who beta'd relentlessly and quite well.
Amid My Solitude was born of a one-shot called Breaking Control, which received such positive feedback on Fiction Alley that I decided to expand upon it.
Also available at AO3.
He never told us what he was,
Or what mischance, or other cause,
Had banished him from better days
To play the Prince of Castaways.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
Remus Lupin never had any trouble passing.
Not passing tests, of course. He was a bright, gifted boy. Not passing for fully human, he'd become adept at that. Not passing for Muggle -- after all, when you've learned to watch even your friends for the slightest hint they knew what you were, even after you knew they knew what you were...well. Learning from Muggles came easily to Remus. A pair of brown trousers, a white collared shirt and a brown waistcoat, and he might be just an overworked accountant, or a burnt-out journalist.
Passing for sober, well, that was harder, but Remus had a lot more self control than any of his mates could have dreamed of. There was one time, seventh year, when he and James had been down the pub drinking firewhiskey, and old Kiernan caught them sneaking back in. Remus had been forced to explain, coherently, that James was feeling ill, while the other boy was passed out on his shoulder.
They got away with it though. Who knew how, but they got away with it.
You can't spend your whole life thinking that way, though.
James didn't get away with hiding, after all. Sirius didn't get away with taking stupid risks in the end and Peter...well, Peter got away with murder. So maybe you could. But only if you were willing to give up your humanity.
Hah.
As if he were really human anyhow.
He sat in the warm leather booth, in the upscale Muggle bar he'd found, and watched as Nymphadora Tonks wandered through. She was looking for him -- hell, most of the Order probably was -- and she'd find him, no matter how much he slouched down or turned away. So he didn't do either; he just waited, and drank his drink. Number five? Number four? Not that it mattered.
He caught the bartender's eye and held up two fingers. The man nodded and brought two more bottles out to the table, taking away the empty bottle near Remus' left hand.
That got Tonks' attention, and he sighed. She made her way across the room, knocking over two chairs and a waitress on the way, apologising profusely. When she finally reached him, she put her hands on her hips. This would have been a bit terrifying if her elbow hadn't knocked over the beer sitting near the edge of the table. Remus caught it before it could spill.
Quick reflexes. Still passing for sober. Hooray.
She was wearing glasses, he noticed, though it took him a second to figure out why.
"Arthur," she snapped softly, and Arthur Weasley's head appeared in one of the lenses.
"Yes, Tonks?" came his voice, barely audible.
"I've found him."
"Is he all right?"
Tonks gave Remus a glare. "I think so."
"Hasn't done anything stupid, has he?"
"I'm right here, Arthur," Remus said reproachfully.
"I'm aware of that," Arthur answered calmly.
"So you've found me. I'm not going to kill myself or anyone else. And I'm not Sirius Black," Remus added, and had the pleasure of seeing both Tonks and Arthur wince. "So you can bugger off and leave me the hell alone."
"I'll call the rest of them off," Arthur said. "You look after him."
"I planned on it," Tonks answered. Arthur's head vanished, and she took the glasses off. She did not sit down.
"I bought you a beer," Remus offered, holding it out to her.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Lupin," she said, taking the beer and setting it back down on the table so hard that it shook.
"Yes, I do hope I can afford that extra," Remus said, musingly. "I don't usually carry much Muggle money -- "
"It's not like the rest of us have anything else to worry about, oh no, none of us were upset. We had nothing better to do than go chasing after you."
"I did not ask you to come find me," Remus replied.
"What were we supposed to do?"
"I wasn't aware I had to ask permission before having a drink after a very long, very horrible day," he continued. "After all, I'm a grown man. I stood up and I gave my testimony and I didn't shed one damn tear, even when that horrible woman went into her lovely little diatribe about whether or not a werewolf could be trusted under oath. I thought to myself, Remus, I think I'll go have a beer. I don't really want to be around while the rest of them stare at me as if I was some sort of tragic carnival freak."
"I don't think most of them know what a carnival is," Tonks answered, but there was a tacit apology in her voice.
"Their ignorance is not my problem."
"We all thought it was very wrong of them to debate your honesty right there in the inquiry," said Tonks, seating herself. She toyed with the beer bottle. "Arthur Weasley said he'd like to talk his boys into rigging up a surprise in her office. It didn't sound like it would be very nice."
"I don't see why we had to do it anyhow," Remus said rebelliously. "We couldn't clear his name while he was alive, I don't think a hearing's going to do him much good now that he's dead. Probably just come back with the same verdict anyhow. Peter Pettigrew's dead and Remus Lupin's a lying werewolf."
"Dumbledore thought it was important," Tonks reminded him. "Since there wasn't going to be a funeral."
"Who wanted a funeral?" Remus asked, furious. "Who needed a damn re-hashing of Sirius's whole wasted life? Who wanted that? Not bloody me, I can tell you that much. Let the poor man alone, for God's sake."
"Talking about him now, or about yourself?" she asked, taking a sip of the beer. He covered his eyes with his hand.
"I don't know, Tonks," he replied. "It...for a minute, it was like things were falling into place. I wasn't...we were rebuilding something. I had the Order back. We had Sirius back. I started thinking maybe...I started thinking even that Snape wasn't so bad, you know? That he was some kind of replacement. For Peter. Not really one of us, but there if you needed him. And then it all went to pieces again."
"Snape's still around. He likes you." Tonks considered this for a moment. "Well, he doesn't hate you as much as he could, anyhow. And the Order's still there."
"Yes, and where exactly is my place in it?"
"You know you -- "
"Please, Tonks, I haven't fit in anywhere since I was twenty," he snapped. She cocked her head at him, curious.
"Since you were twenty?" she asked. "What happened when you were -- oh."
"Yes. Oh."
"I was ten."
"I remember."
"I don't. Well, sort of," she said softly. "I remember mum waking me up in the middle of the night and telling me about it. Some of it," she added. "And later on, mum cried a lot. I remember that."
"She was very upset. Andromeda never believed Sirius was a traitor." Remus took a deep drink. "But I did. I hate myself for it, but I believed it. Who wouldn't? All those witnesses, and that ruddy finger...I didn't have just Sirius to be loyal to. I had to be loyal to James and Lily and Peter, too."
"Must've been awful for you."
Remus studied his bottle, while Tonks took a long drink.
"I was in London," he said softly. "I was boarding with a Muggle family, working a Muggle job as a cover. We couldn't communicate -- the Order, I mean. We couldn't talk as much as we do now. Our enemies were at the height of their power. Another few months and I knew, even if Dumbledore wasn't going to say it -- the Order wasn't going to survive."
Tonks was watching him, curiously.
"So I didn't hear about it immediately," he continued, not sure why he was even bothering to tell her this. "And by then..."
His chest seized up, and he took another drink, trying to relax his muscles enough to continue talking.
"Dumbledore came to the house. And we talked for a while. In two minutes, everyone I loved was suddenly gone. I don't have much family, my friends were all I ever really had -- and they were dead, and Sirius was responsible. Harry was gone to live with Muggles, and all across the country..."
"People were celebrating," Tonks said in a hushed voice.
"I went down to Diagon Alley, you know, to get more news. I walked in and the place stopped dead. And everybody looked at me. They all knew. They just stared. Because one of my best friends killed three of the others. And I was left."
"What did you do?"
"Turned around and walked out. Found a Muggle bar," he said, a trace of irony in his voice. "Got very, very drunk. Old habits, I guess," he added. Tonks signalled the bartender for a second beer.
"Not the best way to deal with things, is it?" she asked.
"Do you really think, Tonks, that I have ever dealt with the fact that in one day I lost my entire life?" he asked. He would not cry in front of Tonks. He would not.
"How do you live with it, then?"
Remus shrugged. "You go on for a while, pretending that you're all right, and sooner or later..."
"...it's true?"
"No. You just get really good at pretending." He finished his drink. His head felt light; he wondered how long he'd been in the bar. He'd been drinking awfully fast, at first, and it felt like it was about to catch up to him.
"Hm?" he said, aware that Tonks had asked him something.
"I said, and you had to go through it twice, didn't you?" she repeated, in a small voice. He didn't answer.
Not quite passing for sober anymore.
"Maybe you're right," he said.
"About -- "
"Maybe I ought to go home," he continued, over top of her question. Then he remembered where home was. "Or maybe I ought to go anywhere but home," he concluded. "I'm damned if I'm going to sleep there tonight. Not after this day."
"There's a hotel just up the street that's not too bad," Tonks said.
"Can't afford a hotel," Remus muttered.
"The Order can," she answered. He laughed, bitterly.
"That's right!" he said brightly. "Sirus' share of the Black fortunes is in the hands of the Order, isn't it? How splendid."
"Don't, Remus."
"What? Don't appreciate the irony of it? Don't be angry because Sirius has literally given everything it is possible to give and the Ministry of Magic still thinks he's a murderer?"
"Don't be bitter."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
She sighed and got out of the booth, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's find you a place to sleep it off."
She tossed some crumpled Muggle money on the table. He was finding it mildly difficult to stand; Sirius and James had always teased him about being a lightweight, about that werewolf metabolism of his, which kept him ludicrously thin but didn't handle alcohol well at all.
They wandered, Tonks half-supporting him, out into the evening, and up the street; he nearly fell over when she stopped in front of the hotel and he kept walking.
"Thank you, Tonks," he said, when she finally leaned him against the wall in the elevator, after a brief conversation with the front desk. "I am," he said, carefully, "An absolute mess, aren't I?"
"Yes," she replied, toying with the keycard to the room.
"Thank you for your honesty."
She helped him out into the hallway, and found the room, and unlocked it; inside was a bed and a dresser, nightstand and table -- all the usual accouterments of a room that people merely stayed in, rather than lived in.
"You'll be all right here," she said as he pulled off his shoes and socks, undid his waistcoat.
"I think 'all right' is a relative state," he answered.
"You use awfully big words for a drunk man, Lupin," she said, squinting at herself in the mirror. Her hair went from long and brown to a short, pixie-like blonde. He smiled.
"Some people get maudlin. I get verbose," he replied. "And maudlin," he added, after a moment's thought.
"Lupin..."
"Mh?" he asked, undoing the top button of his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Do you..." she paused, and looked...almost embarrassed. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight? Until you're...asleep? Arthur's pretty much given me the night off, and..."
A realisation dawned on him, and he blinked in its blinding light. "Are you trying to get a leg over, Tonks?" he blurted.
"A leg over? Who uses that expression anymore?" she asked, startled.
"I do," he replied, feeling a bit foolish. Of course she wasn't. He was ages older than her -- well, all right, ten years, still -- and he was a ragged, depressive, and at the moment quite sloppily drunk werewolf...
"And...erm...if I am?" she asked, trying to look mysterious and succeeding in knocking over the telephone book on the dresser. When she'd recovered it, he was watching her.
"Everything I told you about tonight..." he said slowly, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. "That all happened...when I was twenty, and you were ten."
"What's that got to do with anything? I'm not ten anymore," she said.
This was true, and the sort of logic that appealed to his senses at the moment.
Tonks was a lovely woman. An unutterable klutz and occasionally indiscreet, but a beautiful, nice, and friendly person. These were few and far between in his life. Of course it was mildly amusing to watch a woman a decade his junior try to seduce him while knocking over cups and phone books. And it was flattering, also.
And suddenly he really, really wanted it. His whole body wanted it. Bits of him were becoming quite insistent about wanting it.
But.
He put his face in his hands. Nothing was ever easy, was it?
"And where, exactly, would that leave us in the morning, Tonks?" he asked.
He felt her hands on his. She knelt -- fell over -- got back up and looked into his eyes, pulling his hands from his face.
"Well...we'd have had a fun night," she said thoughtfully.
"Do you really suppose you'd have all that much fun? The state I'm in?" he asked.
"I think so," she answered, and kissed him. He wasn't sure how to react to that, so he retreated to the tried and true method that had gotten him through lifelong lycanthropy and the deaths of his best friends -- he didn't react at all. She leaned back. He expected her to look hurt; instead she just looked puzzled.
"What exactly," she asked, thumbs stroking the palms of his hands, "does it take to break through that self-control of yours, Remus?"
The feeling of her fingers on the sensitive skin of his hands was distracting in the extreme. "There's a good reason for it," he answered absently.
"Here and now?"
"Everywhere. And always." Touch, touch, touch went her thumbs. It was difficult to breathe.
"But I know your secrets." Touch. Touch. Slide of her hands up his arms, pushing his sleeves back. "I know who you are."
Slide again; one of her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt with a sudden and surprising dexterity. Fingertips on his bare skin.
Who you are. Not what you are. Who you are.
Lips on his, and still he didn't react. Pressure of her body against him, pushing him backwards. The world spinning, definitely hard to breathe, hard to think.
"I don't know if I even could let it go," he said hoarsely. "Nobody ever made me before -- "
"Have there been a lot of befores?" she asked.
She had a point. There had been some, but not in a long time...
Never mind that now. Shirt off his shoulders. Counterpane beneath him. Weight on his hips, and still he did not move.
Her hands left him, as she pulled her own shirt off over her head.
No, don't stop touching me, I couldn't bear it if you didn't --
He gave an inarticulate groan and rolled, taking her with him, pinning her underneath him. She cried out in surprise, but not for long. Lips on hers. Grabbing her wrists tightly, pulling her hands to him. Touching. Contact. Pressure. Clothing long gone, no longer an issue, please touch me...and she was more than obliging...
But there was one last little bastion of control, one small inner lockbox that could never, ever be bypassed. A failsafe deep in his soul as he moved with her, crying out, his face pressed to her neck, teeth --
No.
He would not bite. He wanted to, wanted to let that last go and surrender, but if he did that, he really wouldn't be human.
So instead he kissed and tasted her skin and when she cried out so did he, and for one second it was almost perfect.
For a second the world went away. But only for a second.
"Do you want me to go?" she asked, after they had caught their breath, after he had wrapped his arms around her and they had kissed and touched their way through the silences. "I'd understand if you did."
Remus shook his head and pulled her tighter. He'd broken. It was horrible and wonderful at once, but whatever it had been, it had shattered something and he needed her to stay until it had healed.
"Please don't go," he whispered. She touched one of his arms hesitantly.
"I was afraid for a minute you might bite me," she said.
"I know." And he had known, somewhere, that the intensity of what they'd just done had frightened her.
"But you didn't."
"No." He closed his eyes, let his forehead press against hers. "So...did you...have fun?" he asked. She laughed.
"Yes, I did, Remus," she replied, her hand drifting up to stroke his cheek. He sensed, dimly, that it wasn't the same for her as it had been for him; a purge of emotions, yes, and the peculiar longing for human contact that comes when too much time is spent pondering death. But for her it had been just what she'd said -- fun.
For him it was something much darker and more dangerous. A loss of control. Not since he was a boy had that happened when it wasn't the full moon. It was not fun for him, but this time, it had been necessary.
What would I have done, he wondered, if she hadn't found me tonight?
The answer was easy. Keep on pretending. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending. Which was what he had to do anyway.
So nothing was really any different, except that there was a woman sleeping in his arms, instead of a cold empty bed, and some of the perpetual tension in his shoulders and his belly had loosened a little.
She sighed and her hand moved again, drifting down to rest against his neck.
He would think about her hands and her body and her smile, and sleep with her here like this. He could go back to pretending in the morning. There would be time in the morning, when he was once more Remus Lupin, dependable able and trustworthy werewolf, whom everyone liked but nobody touched.
***
Remus Lupin did not usually enjoy his werewolf metabolism, other than that it kept him reasonably fit. It did have one advantage: it didn't take much to get him drunk, and at the same time, it conveniently prevented hangovers. For this he was grateful, the few times he'd had enough to really regret it in the morning.
Of course, it didn't prevent you doing stupid things while drunk. That would have been a bit much to ask for.
He was in bed, but not his bed at his flat -- he'd given up his flat when the Order re-formed, anyhow. Certainly not in his bed at Siriu -- at the Black Hou -- at Headquarters. That bed was narrower, and a bit less firm.
There usually weren't women in that bed, either. Not while he was also in that bed.
At least, he hoped it was a woman. He didn't think he'd been that drunk.
All he could really see was short, spiky blonde hair. She was curled up in a ball under the covers, a few inches from his outstretched hand. Slowly, he probed his memory.
Ah.
Yes.
He'd gone for a drink, because there had been the inquiry into the imprisonment of Sirius Black. Long overdue, Dumbledore said. The man had never been given a proper trial, and now, he never could have one. No body -- he couldn't even have a funeral.
All he could have, now, was an inquiry.
And Remus had been called to testify, and a woman on the inquiry board had made issue over his trustworthiness. Because he was a werewolf. Because he was Sirius' friend. As if it hadn't been hard enough to see the closed, frightened looks of the board of inquiry, and know in a despairing sort of way that no matter how much they trusted him --and they didn't, not at all -- they were probably going to find the same as had been found years ago. Sirius Black was a stone killer and Peter Pettigrew was dead.
The hopelessness had overwhelmed. One drink turned into two, into four, more than that, and he was a lightweight. It'd been enough to make him unsteady on his feet by the time Tonks -- oh, good lord, it was Tonks lying in the bed with him.
You are a stupid git, Remus Lupin. A stupid, useless git.
He had mentioned to her that she was ten years younger than him. She knew he was a werewolf. He was fairly sure he hadn't forced her to do anything, but werewolves were awfully strong, and he did recall pinning her underneath him --
There she was. Inches from his hand. So easy to reach out for.
She gave a little soft moan and rolled over, bright eyes fixing on his face. Her hand slid up to touch his.
"Morning, Remus," she said softly. "Thought you were awake."
"You did?" he asked, surprised.
"You don't breathe enough," she said. He felt his eyebrows draw together. "You breathe deeply when you sleep. When you're awake, you're nervous. I can tell when I hear you breathing." The pads of her fingertips touched his. "I'm trained to notice," she added.
"How long have you been noticing things about me, Tonks?" he asked, trying not to sound accusatory.
"Since I found out you were a werewolf," she replied. "I'd never met one before except on..."
"...official business?"
She winced, slightly.
"We're not a very nice lot, on the whole," Remus mused. "Were you watching for me to break out one day and horribly kill someone, or -- "
"It's not like that. I was curious. I just wanted to see what you were like."
He pulled his hand away and sat up. He'd have climbed out of the bed, but he was still naked, and he had enough sense to know that dignity was not something you could preserve while standing unclothed in front of someone.
"Remus, I just -- listen, it's what we do, all right? Aurors? We look at people and we take them to pieces. I do it to everyone."
"You'll excuse me if I'm oversensitive to these things," he said, turning away. After a second, he felt her hands on his arms, her chin on his left shoulder. The barest brush of her body against his back. He remembered begging her to touch him, not to stop. He wasn't sure whether he was ashamed he'd begged, or happy that he hadn't really had to.
"It's too early in the morning for this," he muttered. "I'm sorry."
"I would have said it to anyone," she whispered.
"I know."
"I stayed because you were hurting. Not because I wanted..."
He turned his head, slightly. She had gone pink.
"Wanted...?" he prompted. She looked down, her nose pressed to his shoulder.
"A couple of the Order...think it would be...well, that is, they'd like to...know."
"Know?"
"About werewolves."
"Oh." He digested this. "You mean, what it's like to...oh, that's morbid..."
"Not really. The lure of the exotic."
He laughed, bitterly. "Exotic! Who..."
"Oh, you know. Women talk. Some of the...girls, my age..." He felt her shrug. "And Molly Weasley thinks you're handsome."
"Molly? But Arthur -- "
"She's married, Remus, not dead. And Blynton Blythe."
"But Blythe's a bloke -- " Remus was aware, now, of the shallow breathing that Tonks had mentioned. "Ah. Aha. What a well of information you are, Tonks."
"I won't tell anyone."
"I don't mind. I mean -- you tell who you want. What you want."
"And you."
He smiled. "Who would I tell?"
"I'm going to tell Molly," she said, wickedness in every syllable. He laughed outright.
"Tonks, you're too young for me," he said, when the laughter had settled.
"Course I am. I don't care."
"You will."
"Well, as long as we're both forewarned," she replied, kissing his shoulder. "Hungry?"
"Are you?"
"Ravenous."
***
"Hallo, Tonks!" Molly Weasley called from the kitchen, when Tonks walked into the front living room. She and Remus had gone in through the back door of Headquarters, and he'd gone straight to his rooms, pleading that he wanted some tea from his private stash before he'd feel able to face people again.
"Morning, Molly," Tonks replied with a smile, ducking into the kitchen and searching the cupboards for some cereal. "You're here early."
"We stayed the night. Got to be too late to go home after we stopped off searching, and Arthur thought we could use some time away from the children," Molly said fondly. "I might say the same thing about you."
"Oh, I was bringing Remus back," Tonks said lightly.
"Yes, that's right, you looked after him last night. I hope he wasn't too much trouble. Arthur said he was a bit rude."
"It was fine. Once he figured out I wasn't going anywhere, he settled down."
"I thought he might. Remus is many things, but I can't imagine him a rowdy drunk," Molly added. Tonks took milk from the fridge, added some to her cereal, and leaned on the counter, eating. "He's got too much control for that."
Tonks nearly snorted milk through her nose.
"Are you all right dear?" Molly asked.
"Fine," Tonks gasped. "Sorry, we were just...talking about that. Last night. Remus and control, I mean. He and I were talking about it."
"Have a nice long chat, did you? Probably did him the world of good."
"Not a particularly long chat," Tonks murmured. Molly set down her mug and regarded her.
"You're being awfully cryptic this morning," she observed. "And you've got a smile on your face like the cat that got the -- "
Tonks watched as amused realisation spread over Molly's face like a sunrise.
"You did, didn't you? You got yourself a nice yellow canary, didn't you, Tonks?"
Tonks grinned, and nodded. Molly began to laugh.
"Good for you! And for him, he could use a bit of -- oh, Arthur!"
Arthur Weasley, stepping into the kitchen, looked from one grinning woman to the other and sighed. "All right, what did I do?" he asked. Molly laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
"Do let me tell him, Tonks? They're such friends and he'll be glad to hear it -- "
Tonks smiled. "I don't think Remus will care. He said I could tell who I liked, he didn't mind."
"Tell me what?" Arthur asked.
"Tonks shagged Remus last night," Molly said, mischief dancing in her eyes. Arthur beamed.
"Well, it's about time someone did," he said, taking some of the milk Tonks had left in the carton and adding it to his tea. "Though I must say I wouldn't have -- good morning, Lupin!" he called, as Remus -- washed, shaved, and in clean clothes -- loomed in the doorway.
"Morning, Molly, Arthur," Remus replied, carrying his tea carefully to the breakfast table and seating himself. "Sorry about yesterday," he added, staring into his mug.
"Quite all right, old chap, I'd have done the same if I'd thought of it," Arthur said cheerfully. So cheerfully, in fact, that Remus looked up suspiciously.
All three of them were grinning at him. He rested his head on his hands.
"I did think you'd wait at least an hour, Tonks," he said, with an amused look.
"Sorry." Tonks tried very hard to look contrite. "Molly ambushed me."
"I think it's splendid," Arthur announced. "Bit of exercise, bit of fun, and you couldn't ask for a prettier girl to kiss than Nymphadora Tonks, I say."
"Thank you, Arthur," Remus said, covering his eyes as Tonks turned scarlet. "Very subtle. Very subdued."
"Oh, I'll keep mum," Arthur answered. "Well done."
Tonks looked a bit askance at this, but Arthur gave her a thumbs-up as he left the kitchen, followed by Molly, who was laughing too hard for words.
"You should have come down earlier, you missed the bit where he said it was about time someone shagged you," Tonks said sympathetically.
"Is my nonexistent sex life the occupation of the entire Order, or just most of it?" Remus asked.
"I'm pretty sure defeating the Dark Lord comes in somewhere, but I confess I've never seen it myself," Tonks replied, seating herself across from him. "You clean up all right, you know," she said. He smiled.
"You enjoyed yourself last night, did you?" he asked. "Aside from me being a drunken git?"
"Oh, I enjoyed that too."
"I'll make a note," Remus said wryly. "So what are your plans for the day?"
"Day off," she said. "The Order hasn't got much for me to do, so I thought I'd go home. I'll check in with Kingsley, make sure he hasn't got anything that needs seeing to, perhaps do some shopping. You?"
"I thought I'd sleep. Rather a lot," Remus replied. "I'm sure if there'd been any news about the verdict, we'd have heard. They'll probably wait until Monday now. So I shall sleep, and attempt not to think. At all."
"It must be hard, not having a regular job," Tonks said quietly.
"It's a bloody holiday," Remus said bitterly, into his tea.
"Well, have a good sleep," she replied, understanding that now was probably the time to let him alone for a while. She stood and set the now-empty cereal bowl in the sink, where a scrub brush began to wash it. "I'll be round tomorrow evening if you're here, Arthur's having one of his pot-luck dos."
"I should be," he said, with a nod. "Tonks, listen -- "
She cut him off with a kiss, quick and sweet, nibbling just a little on his bottom lip. He stared up at her, wide-eyed.
"See you then," she said, and was gone.
Remus, left in the kitchen with his cooling tea, touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb thoughtfully. After a while, tea growing cold, he finished it off and stood, moving through the quiet house carefully.
He'd always been bookish as a child, even before he was bitten, and he liked to read -- except during his most poverty-stricken days, he always had money for books, and he would read anything, voraciously. It was helpful, sometimes, too; books always gave him ideas for papers or monographs, and he could sometimes sell them to academic journals, newspapers, magazines. It wasn't much money, but it was something.
He had truly intended to get some sleep, after Tonks left. No matter how good Molly and Arthur were at keeping secrets, the rumours were sure to fly, and he wanted to be conveniently unavailable should anyone come knocking.
But some chance phrase he'd found, in the book he'd selected for reading before he fell asleep, sparked an interest. He'd gotten up and gone to the small stack of books on his desk, leafing through them until he found what he was looking for. After that he'd had to dress and go back downstairs to the Black family library, where he'd spent most of the afternoon (fortunately, buried in the stacks where no-one thought to look for him). He stopped to eat when he was hungry, but before he realised what had happened, it was nearly ten in the evening.
Better that way, perhaps. When he lay down, he didn't think about the hearing, or about Sirius. And he didn't think about Tonks.
But he dreamed about her.
He woke in the night and went back to work again, consulting books, scratching notes, feverishly copying out the rough draft and adding to it. He'd never been good at sleeping through the night at any rate. Hadn't James always bugged him about waking them all up with his midnight studying?
He slept again around two a.m. and woke feeling exhausted, but went back to work. If he could finish this article he was sure he could sell it, and if he didn't wrestle it onto the page now, he never would.
He didn't hear Arthur and Molly arrive or call for him; he didn't hear anyone else either, until someone Apparated outside his window with a bang that startled him so badly he nearly knocked over his inkwell.
He became aware that there were voices downstairs, shouts and greetings and laughter; if he listened hard he could pick out the Weasleys and Snape, Dumbledore and Kingsley, and others too.
He glanced down at the essay, which lacked only an introduction and a conclusion, sighed, and closed the book on his lap.
He wasn't in the mood for a dinner party, but he knew that Arthur had arranged this to keep everyone sane while they waited to hear from the inquiry board. So he dropped his books into his bag, rolled up his parchment around his quill and added that and a stoppered inkwell, and prepared to face the masses. If he was truly desperate to escape, he could always say he was just passing through to somewhere important.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, something exploded nearby, and he jumped; suddenly four or five people descended, scolding, apologising, and declaring that he looked white as a sheet.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." Fred and George chanted. "We were just testing out the new exploding gum products," Fred explained, pointing to a few small twists of pink chewing gum on the doorframe. "Stick 'em to a door and if someone walks through it, they explode. Very useful alarm system, and cheap."
"Also an effective murder weapon," Remus murmured, heart still hammering.
"Have some free of charge," George said, pressing a pack into Remus' hand. Remus very quickly found someone else's pocket to stuff it into.
"Are you okay? What on earth -- Weasleys!" Tonks exclaimed, examining the doorway. "Fred, I'm going to kill you!"
"What about me?" George called -- they were already halfway across the room, demonstrating the gum to someone else.
"You'd best just watch your step, since I can't tell you apart!" she shouted. She turned back to Remus, straightening his collar. "Are you all right?"
"I'm having a heart attack, but otherwise fine," he managed, pushing himself away from the wall. "I think I'll get a glass of water..."
Tonks followed him as he pushed through the press of people in the smallish living room -- once a den, Remus thought, for Sirius' father -- and into the kitchen. It was warmer here but less crowded; Molly was stirring something on the counter.
"Remus! When did you show up?" she asked. "I thought you'd gone out."
"Buried in work," Remus answered, setting the book bag on the counter. He was shaking, just a little, as he poured himself a glass of water. "Anything I can help with in here?"
"Would you keep an eye on the roast?" Molly asked, a note of pleading in her voice. "I did so want to go say hello to a few people..."
"I think I can be safely employed in making sure cooked meat does not escape," Remus replied. Molly smiled and patted his arm as she passed.
"You look a bit like death warmed over, you know," Tonks said, coming to lean on the counter next to him. "I hope you didn't spend all weekend thinking about the inquiry."
"I didn't sleep well," he said, which was perfectly true. He felt heat creep over his cheeks as he remembered one dream in particular that had been a reason he hadn't slept well.
"There's a little colour," Tonks said critically. "Really, your cheekbones are criminally high."
Remus looked at her, confused. "They're just cheekbones, Tonks."
"Perhaps to you," she replied. "To the rest of the world they are a mighty weapon in the war between the sexes."
"Yes, Remus Lupin, Don Juan. Somehow I think not. Chewing gum gives me palpitations, I think I'd rather just find a corner and read."
"That's not what you said Friday night," Tonks replied. He'd just got the last blush under control...
"Yes, well. You weren't exactly a shy violet yourself," he reminded her, rather more curtly than he meant to. A grin broke over his face. "In fact I don't recall, in our strange and rather varied friendship, you ever making quite those noises before -- "
"Stop it!" she laughed, shoving his arm. Water spilled on his waistcoat. "Oh, dear -- I'm sorry -- "
The shock of cold water did him good; he had a certain amount of dignity to uphold, and here he was hiding in the kitchen, flirting with a woman so much younger -- she was Charlie Weasley's age, for crying out loud --
Of course, on the other hand, Charlie was a fine grown man, holding a steady job and all -- and so was Tonks. Well, not a man, obviously.
But, said a small voice in the back of his head, she's very finely grown indeed...
Tonks had managed to acquire a trail of paper towels and was trying to sop up the water which was making a dark spot on his waistcoat. He took her hand away, gently, grasping her wrist and pulling it to the side.
"It'll dry in a few minutes, it's warm in here," he said. "Don't worry, Tonks, I'm fine. No harm done."
"I spilled some punch on Snape already," she said. "This is why I hate parties. I'm always knocking people over or dropping my food or something. I do wish I could be just a little more graceful -- "
Remus, still holding her wrist, found himself watching, detached, as he pulled her slightly closer. He tilted his head until their foreheads were almost touching.
"I find you quite graceful, Tonks," he said quietly.
"You do?" she asked. He could feel her breath on his cheek.
"When sufficiently motivated," he replied.
"Come along, the food's right in -- oh."
Remus looked up, past Tonks' shoulder, as Molly and about a dozen of their Order colleagues came through the kitchen door. Tonks stepped away swiftly, treading on one of his feet as she did so. Molly, ever the mother hen, composed herself quickly.
"You see, we've got two of our top agents guarding it," she said, with a light laugh. "Take the cover off the roast, Remus, if you would, and Tonks, can you -- oh, no dear, better not toss the salad..."
***
Remus had never paid much attention to the way he was treated by the other members of the Order. He was just one of them, and he was grateful that he was more or less accepted, so he didn't look too closely. It had become a habit with him, in the Order. Don't look, in case you might not like what you see...
But Tonks had said things to him, about him, that made him examine faces a little more closely at this gathering. Not just the women, though it started that way; he watched how some of them watched him, saw one or two girls maneuvering quite subtly to end up next to him in line for the food. He wasn't sure whether it was flattering or disturbing. Surely it couldn't just be...what had Tonks said? The lure of the exotic? These women, whom he'd thought to be sensible, logical people, couldn't want to get to know him out of pure morbid curiosity about werewolves?
He watched the men, wondering if they saw it too, and realised something quite strange was going on.
A couple of the younger ones, who were nominally under the authority of the twins, were mimicking him, taking the food he took, shyly standing near whatever group he was talking to. He had always assumed that, at any party, people constantly moved from group to group, but he began to realise that he was the one moving -- that most everyone else stayed put, or at least didn't move quite so often as he did. And when he arrived at a new group, they deferred to his authority, or fell silent if he had a question.
It began to make him downright uncomfortable.
These people he'd thought were his friends, were they afraid of him? The silence that fell over them when he approached -- was that because they'd been discussing him? Surely not, it was the height of ego to presume, but what other explanation was there?
He sidled up to Arthur just as the other man was finishing his meal. "Can I have a word?" he asked quietly. Arthur nodded, and excused himself from the trio of people he was talking to.
"What's the matter? Mission from Dumbledore?" Arthur asked, when they were alone in one corner of the kitchen. Remus shook his head.
"Do you notice anything odd about the Order?" he said, trying to look as if he were simply talking shop. Arthur's brow furrowed.
"Odd? How?"
"Just..." Remus gave him a frustrated look. "There are people following me, Arthur. I was taken for a spy once before, you know, and I'm not keen -- "
Arthur held up a hand, stopping him. "No-one thinks you're a spy, Remus. Who's following you?"
"Only about half the women in the organisation, and -- "
"Your harem, you mean?"
Remus stared, openly horrified. "My what?"
"It's what the younger lads call it. I did wonder why you had so much trouble finding a girl when about ten of them would be willing, at any time, to follow you home," Arthur said, amused. "I applaud your taste, though. Tonks is -- "
" -- Tonks is Tonks," Remus said irritably. "That was just the once. They're not the only ones, you know. And people stop talking when I'm around, until I talk, and -- "
He broke off, because Arthur was looking at him with a mixture of admiration and pity.
"For a smart man, Lupin, you're a bit on the thick side," he said. Remus bridled at this. "Didn't you notice?"
"Notice what? What am I supposed to notice? Obviously someone ought to tell me, since I'm a bit on the thick side!" Remus hissed.
"Who runs the Order?" Arthur asked.
"Dumbledore, of course. What's that got to -- "
"And who keeps track of everyone and makes sure things get done?"
"You and Molly, but -- "
"And who actually figures out how Dumbledore's orders get carried out, and supervises the plans, and trains new people, and assigns people to their jobs?" Arthur continued. Remus pursed his lips.
"Well, the twins are pretty good at planning, and -- "
"Remus, who tells them to do those things? Who makes sure they get done?" Arthur sighed at the other man's blank look. "You do. They're not talking about you when you walk up. They stop talking because it's the respectful thing to do. The youngsters follow you around because they want to hear what you're saying. They want to be like you."
"Like me? Why?"
"Because you're the leader, Remus. Please do try to grasp this, Molly isn't going to wait for me to go say hello to Kingsley much longer. Dumbledore tells us what to do and you tell us how to do it. If Dumbledore died tomorrow, who'd take over? Me? Not likely. You know the most about what's happening, and you get the most information back from the outside." Arthur clapped him on the arm. "Welcome to responsibility and leadership, Remus. It's not much fun, but someone has to do it."
And he walked away, leaving the werewolf standing in a corner, holding an empty plate, bereft of a single coherent thought.
Chapter 2
Summary: Remus attempts to understand his growing relationship with Tonks as he comes to leadership in the Order and explores his werewolf heritage.
Warnings: Some gore, especially in the later chapters.
Notes: I owe much gratitude to the LJ crowd, who put up with my miscellaneous postings of snippets from this work for weeks; also to the Y!M regulars for letting me bounce ideas off them. Special thanks to Judy, Jill, Tai, and Yap, who beta'd relentlessly and quite well.
Amid My Solitude was born of a one-shot called Breaking Control, which received such positive feedback on Fiction Alley that I decided to expand upon it.
Also available at AO3.
He never told us what he was,
Or what mischance, or other cause,
Had banished him from better days
To play the Prince of Castaways.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson
Remus Lupin never had any trouble passing.
Not passing tests, of course. He was a bright, gifted boy. Not passing for fully human, he'd become adept at that. Not passing for Muggle -- after all, when you've learned to watch even your friends for the slightest hint they knew what you were, even after you knew they knew what you were...well. Learning from Muggles came easily to Remus. A pair of brown trousers, a white collared shirt and a brown waistcoat, and he might be just an overworked accountant, or a burnt-out journalist.
Passing for sober, well, that was harder, but Remus had a lot more self control than any of his mates could have dreamed of. There was one time, seventh year, when he and James had been down the pub drinking firewhiskey, and old Kiernan caught them sneaking back in. Remus had been forced to explain, coherently, that James was feeling ill, while the other boy was passed out on his shoulder.
They got away with it though. Who knew how, but they got away with it.
You can't spend your whole life thinking that way, though.
James didn't get away with hiding, after all. Sirius didn't get away with taking stupid risks in the end and Peter...well, Peter got away with murder. So maybe you could. But only if you were willing to give up your humanity.
Hah.
As if he were really human anyhow.
He sat in the warm leather booth, in the upscale Muggle bar he'd found, and watched as Nymphadora Tonks wandered through. She was looking for him -- hell, most of the Order probably was -- and she'd find him, no matter how much he slouched down or turned away. So he didn't do either; he just waited, and drank his drink. Number five? Number four? Not that it mattered.
He caught the bartender's eye and held up two fingers. The man nodded and brought two more bottles out to the table, taking away the empty bottle near Remus' left hand.
That got Tonks' attention, and he sighed. She made her way across the room, knocking over two chairs and a waitress on the way, apologising profusely. When she finally reached him, she put her hands on her hips. This would have been a bit terrifying if her elbow hadn't knocked over the beer sitting near the edge of the table. Remus caught it before it could spill.
Quick reflexes. Still passing for sober. Hooray.
She was wearing glasses, he noticed, though it took him a second to figure out why.
"Arthur," she snapped softly, and Arthur Weasley's head appeared in one of the lenses.
"Yes, Tonks?" came his voice, barely audible.
"I've found him."
"Is he all right?"
Tonks gave Remus a glare. "I think so."
"Hasn't done anything stupid, has he?"
"I'm right here, Arthur," Remus said reproachfully.
"I'm aware of that," Arthur answered calmly.
"So you've found me. I'm not going to kill myself or anyone else. And I'm not Sirius Black," Remus added, and had the pleasure of seeing both Tonks and Arthur wince. "So you can bugger off and leave me the hell alone."
"I'll call the rest of them off," Arthur said. "You look after him."
"I planned on it," Tonks answered. Arthur's head vanished, and she took the glasses off. She did not sit down.
"I bought you a beer," Remus offered, holding it out to her.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Lupin," she said, taking the beer and setting it back down on the table so hard that it shook.
"Yes, I do hope I can afford that extra," Remus said, musingly. "I don't usually carry much Muggle money -- "
"It's not like the rest of us have anything else to worry about, oh no, none of us were upset. We had nothing better to do than go chasing after you."
"I did not ask you to come find me," Remus replied.
"What were we supposed to do?"
"I wasn't aware I had to ask permission before having a drink after a very long, very horrible day," he continued. "After all, I'm a grown man. I stood up and I gave my testimony and I didn't shed one damn tear, even when that horrible woman went into her lovely little diatribe about whether or not a werewolf could be trusted under oath. I thought to myself, Remus, I think I'll go have a beer. I don't really want to be around while the rest of them stare at me as if I was some sort of tragic carnival freak."
"I don't think most of them know what a carnival is," Tonks answered, but there was a tacit apology in her voice.
"Their ignorance is not my problem."
"We all thought it was very wrong of them to debate your honesty right there in the inquiry," said Tonks, seating herself. She toyed with the beer bottle. "Arthur Weasley said he'd like to talk his boys into rigging up a surprise in her office. It didn't sound like it would be very nice."
"I don't see why we had to do it anyhow," Remus said rebelliously. "We couldn't clear his name while he was alive, I don't think a hearing's going to do him much good now that he's dead. Probably just come back with the same verdict anyhow. Peter Pettigrew's dead and Remus Lupin's a lying werewolf."
"Dumbledore thought it was important," Tonks reminded him. "Since there wasn't going to be a funeral."
"Who wanted a funeral?" Remus asked, furious. "Who needed a damn re-hashing of Sirius's whole wasted life? Who wanted that? Not bloody me, I can tell you that much. Let the poor man alone, for God's sake."
"Talking about him now, or about yourself?" she asked, taking a sip of the beer. He covered his eyes with his hand.
"I don't know, Tonks," he replied. "It...for a minute, it was like things were falling into place. I wasn't...we were rebuilding something. I had the Order back. We had Sirius back. I started thinking maybe...I started thinking even that Snape wasn't so bad, you know? That he was some kind of replacement. For Peter. Not really one of us, but there if you needed him. And then it all went to pieces again."
"Snape's still around. He likes you." Tonks considered this for a moment. "Well, he doesn't hate you as much as he could, anyhow. And the Order's still there."
"Yes, and where exactly is my place in it?"
"You know you -- "
"Please, Tonks, I haven't fit in anywhere since I was twenty," he snapped. She cocked her head at him, curious.
"Since you were twenty?" she asked. "What happened when you were -- oh."
"Yes. Oh."
"I was ten."
"I remember."
"I don't. Well, sort of," she said softly. "I remember mum waking me up in the middle of the night and telling me about it. Some of it," she added. "And later on, mum cried a lot. I remember that."
"She was very upset. Andromeda never believed Sirius was a traitor." Remus took a deep drink. "But I did. I hate myself for it, but I believed it. Who wouldn't? All those witnesses, and that ruddy finger...I didn't have just Sirius to be loyal to. I had to be loyal to James and Lily and Peter, too."
"Must've been awful for you."
Remus studied his bottle, while Tonks took a long drink.
"I was in London," he said softly. "I was boarding with a Muggle family, working a Muggle job as a cover. We couldn't communicate -- the Order, I mean. We couldn't talk as much as we do now. Our enemies were at the height of their power. Another few months and I knew, even if Dumbledore wasn't going to say it -- the Order wasn't going to survive."
Tonks was watching him, curiously.
"So I didn't hear about it immediately," he continued, not sure why he was even bothering to tell her this. "And by then..."
His chest seized up, and he took another drink, trying to relax his muscles enough to continue talking.
"Dumbledore came to the house. And we talked for a while. In two minutes, everyone I loved was suddenly gone. I don't have much family, my friends were all I ever really had -- and they were dead, and Sirius was responsible. Harry was gone to live with Muggles, and all across the country..."
"People were celebrating," Tonks said in a hushed voice.
"I went down to Diagon Alley, you know, to get more news. I walked in and the place stopped dead. And everybody looked at me. They all knew. They just stared. Because one of my best friends killed three of the others. And I was left."
"What did you do?"
"Turned around and walked out. Found a Muggle bar," he said, a trace of irony in his voice. "Got very, very drunk. Old habits, I guess," he added. Tonks signalled the bartender for a second beer.
"Not the best way to deal with things, is it?" she asked.
"Do you really think, Tonks, that I have ever dealt with the fact that in one day I lost my entire life?" he asked. He would not cry in front of Tonks. He would not.
"How do you live with it, then?"
Remus shrugged. "You go on for a while, pretending that you're all right, and sooner or later..."
"...it's true?"
"No. You just get really good at pretending." He finished his drink. His head felt light; he wondered how long he'd been in the bar. He'd been drinking awfully fast, at first, and it felt like it was about to catch up to him.
"Hm?" he said, aware that Tonks had asked him something.
"I said, and you had to go through it twice, didn't you?" she repeated, in a small voice. He didn't answer.
Not quite passing for sober anymore.
"Maybe you're right," he said.
"About -- "
"Maybe I ought to go home," he continued, over top of her question. Then he remembered where home was. "Or maybe I ought to go anywhere but home," he concluded. "I'm damned if I'm going to sleep there tonight. Not after this day."
"There's a hotel just up the street that's not too bad," Tonks said.
"Can't afford a hotel," Remus muttered.
"The Order can," she answered. He laughed, bitterly.
"That's right!" he said brightly. "Sirus' share of the Black fortunes is in the hands of the Order, isn't it? How splendid."
"Don't, Remus."
"What? Don't appreciate the irony of it? Don't be angry because Sirius has literally given everything it is possible to give and the Ministry of Magic still thinks he's a murderer?"
"Don't be bitter."
"I don't know how to be anything else."
She sighed and got out of the booth, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's find you a place to sleep it off."
She tossed some crumpled Muggle money on the table. He was finding it mildly difficult to stand; Sirius and James had always teased him about being a lightweight, about that werewolf metabolism of his, which kept him ludicrously thin but didn't handle alcohol well at all.
They wandered, Tonks half-supporting him, out into the evening, and up the street; he nearly fell over when she stopped in front of the hotel and he kept walking.
"Thank you, Tonks," he said, when she finally leaned him against the wall in the elevator, after a brief conversation with the front desk. "I am," he said, carefully, "An absolute mess, aren't I?"
"Yes," she replied, toying with the keycard to the room.
"Thank you for your honesty."
She helped him out into the hallway, and found the room, and unlocked it; inside was a bed and a dresser, nightstand and table -- all the usual accouterments of a room that people merely stayed in, rather than lived in.
"You'll be all right here," she said as he pulled off his shoes and socks, undid his waistcoat.
"I think 'all right' is a relative state," he answered.
"You use awfully big words for a drunk man, Lupin," she said, squinting at herself in the mirror. Her hair went from long and brown to a short, pixie-like blonde. He smiled.
"Some people get maudlin. I get verbose," he replied. "And maudlin," he added, after a moment's thought.
"Lupin..."
"Mh?" he asked, undoing the top button of his shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Do you..." she paused, and looked...almost embarrassed. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight? Until you're...asleep? Arthur's pretty much given me the night off, and..."
A realisation dawned on him, and he blinked in its blinding light. "Are you trying to get a leg over, Tonks?" he blurted.
"A leg over? Who uses that expression anymore?" she asked, startled.
"I do," he replied, feeling a bit foolish. Of course she wasn't. He was ages older than her -- well, all right, ten years, still -- and he was a ragged, depressive, and at the moment quite sloppily drunk werewolf...
"And...erm...if I am?" she asked, trying to look mysterious and succeeding in knocking over the telephone book on the dresser. When she'd recovered it, he was watching her.
"Everything I told you about tonight..." he said slowly, trying to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. "That all happened...when I was twenty, and you were ten."
"What's that got to do with anything? I'm not ten anymore," she said.
This was true, and the sort of logic that appealed to his senses at the moment.
Tonks was a lovely woman. An unutterable klutz and occasionally indiscreet, but a beautiful, nice, and friendly person. These were few and far between in his life. Of course it was mildly amusing to watch a woman a decade his junior try to seduce him while knocking over cups and phone books. And it was flattering, also.
And suddenly he really, really wanted it. His whole body wanted it. Bits of him were becoming quite insistent about wanting it.
But.
He put his face in his hands. Nothing was ever easy, was it?
"And where, exactly, would that leave us in the morning, Tonks?" he asked.
He felt her hands on his. She knelt -- fell over -- got back up and looked into his eyes, pulling his hands from his face.
"Well...we'd have had a fun night," she said thoughtfully.
"Do you really suppose you'd have all that much fun? The state I'm in?" he asked.
"I think so," she answered, and kissed him. He wasn't sure how to react to that, so he retreated to the tried and true method that had gotten him through lifelong lycanthropy and the deaths of his best friends -- he didn't react at all. She leaned back. He expected her to look hurt; instead she just looked puzzled.
"What exactly," she asked, thumbs stroking the palms of his hands, "does it take to break through that self-control of yours, Remus?"
The feeling of her fingers on the sensitive skin of his hands was distracting in the extreme. "There's a good reason for it," he answered absently.
"Here and now?"
"Everywhere. And always." Touch, touch, touch went her thumbs. It was difficult to breathe.
"But I know your secrets." Touch. Touch. Slide of her hands up his arms, pushing his sleeves back. "I know who you are."
Slide again; one of her hands undoing the buttons of his shirt with a sudden and surprising dexterity. Fingertips on his bare skin.
Who you are. Not what you are. Who you are.
Lips on his, and still he didn't react. Pressure of her body against him, pushing him backwards. The world spinning, definitely hard to breathe, hard to think.
"I don't know if I even could let it go," he said hoarsely. "Nobody ever made me before -- "
"Have there been a lot of befores?" she asked.
She had a point. There had been some, but not in a long time...
Never mind that now. Shirt off his shoulders. Counterpane beneath him. Weight on his hips, and still he did not move.
Her hands left him, as she pulled her own shirt off over her head.
No, don't stop touching me, I couldn't bear it if you didn't --
He gave an inarticulate groan and rolled, taking her with him, pinning her underneath him. She cried out in surprise, but not for long. Lips on hers. Grabbing her wrists tightly, pulling her hands to him. Touching. Contact. Pressure. Clothing long gone, no longer an issue, please touch me...and she was more than obliging...
But there was one last little bastion of control, one small inner lockbox that could never, ever be bypassed. A failsafe deep in his soul as he moved with her, crying out, his face pressed to her neck, teeth --
No.
He would not bite. He wanted to, wanted to let that last go and surrender, but if he did that, he really wouldn't be human.
So instead he kissed and tasted her skin and when she cried out so did he, and for one second it was almost perfect.
For a second the world went away. But only for a second.
"Do you want me to go?" she asked, after they had caught their breath, after he had wrapped his arms around her and they had kissed and touched their way through the silences. "I'd understand if you did."
Remus shook his head and pulled her tighter. He'd broken. It was horrible and wonderful at once, but whatever it had been, it had shattered something and he needed her to stay until it had healed.
"Please don't go," he whispered. She touched one of his arms hesitantly.
"I was afraid for a minute you might bite me," she said.
"I know." And he had known, somewhere, that the intensity of what they'd just done had frightened her.
"But you didn't."
"No." He closed his eyes, let his forehead press against hers. "So...did you...have fun?" he asked. She laughed.
"Yes, I did, Remus," she replied, her hand drifting up to stroke his cheek. He sensed, dimly, that it wasn't the same for her as it had been for him; a purge of emotions, yes, and the peculiar longing for human contact that comes when too much time is spent pondering death. But for her it had been just what she'd said -- fun.
For him it was something much darker and more dangerous. A loss of control. Not since he was a boy had that happened when it wasn't the full moon. It was not fun for him, but this time, it had been necessary.
What would I have done, he wondered, if she hadn't found me tonight?
The answer was easy. Keep on pretending. And sooner or later you get really good at pretending. Which was what he had to do anyway.
So nothing was really any different, except that there was a woman sleeping in his arms, instead of a cold empty bed, and some of the perpetual tension in his shoulders and his belly had loosened a little.
She sighed and her hand moved again, drifting down to rest against his neck.
He would think about her hands and her body and her smile, and sleep with her here like this. He could go back to pretending in the morning. There would be time in the morning, when he was once more Remus Lupin, dependable able and trustworthy werewolf, whom everyone liked but nobody touched.
***
Remus Lupin did not usually enjoy his werewolf metabolism, other than that it kept him reasonably fit. It did have one advantage: it didn't take much to get him drunk, and at the same time, it conveniently prevented hangovers. For this he was grateful, the few times he'd had enough to really regret it in the morning.
Of course, it didn't prevent you doing stupid things while drunk. That would have been a bit much to ask for.
He was in bed, but not his bed at his flat -- he'd given up his flat when the Order re-formed, anyhow. Certainly not in his bed at Siriu -- at the Black Hou -- at Headquarters. That bed was narrower, and a bit less firm.
There usually weren't women in that bed, either. Not while he was also in that bed.
At least, he hoped it was a woman. He didn't think he'd been that drunk.
All he could really see was short, spiky blonde hair. She was curled up in a ball under the covers, a few inches from his outstretched hand. Slowly, he probed his memory.
Ah.
Yes.
He'd gone for a drink, because there had been the inquiry into the imprisonment of Sirius Black. Long overdue, Dumbledore said. The man had never been given a proper trial, and now, he never could have one. No body -- he couldn't even have a funeral.
All he could have, now, was an inquiry.
And Remus had been called to testify, and a woman on the inquiry board had made issue over his trustworthiness. Because he was a werewolf. Because he was Sirius' friend. As if it hadn't been hard enough to see the closed, frightened looks of the board of inquiry, and know in a despairing sort of way that no matter how much they trusted him --and they didn't, not at all -- they were probably going to find the same as had been found years ago. Sirius Black was a stone killer and Peter Pettigrew was dead.
The hopelessness had overwhelmed. One drink turned into two, into four, more than that, and he was a lightweight. It'd been enough to make him unsteady on his feet by the time Tonks -- oh, good lord, it was Tonks lying in the bed with him.
You are a stupid git, Remus Lupin. A stupid, useless git.
He had mentioned to her that she was ten years younger than him. She knew he was a werewolf. He was fairly sure he hadn't forced her to do anything, but werewolves were awfully strong, and he did recall pinning her underneath him --
There she was. Inches from his hand. So easy to reach out for.
She gave a little soft moan and rolled over, bright eyes fixing on his face. Her hand slid up to touch his.
"Morning, Remus," she said softly. "Thought you were awake."
"You did?" he asked, surprised.
"You don't breathe enough," she said. He felt his eyebrows draw together. "You breathe deeply when you sleep. When you're awake, you're nervous. I can tell when I hear you breathing." The pads of her fingertips touched his. "I'm trained to notice," she added.
"How long have you been noticing things about me, Tonks?" he asked, trying not to sound accusatory.
"Since I found out you were a werewolf," she replied. "I'd never met one before except on..."
"...official business?"
She winced, slightly.
"We're not a very nice lot, on the whole," Remus mused. "Were you watching for me to break out one day and horribly kill someone, or -- "
"It's not like that. I was curious. I just wanted to see what you were like."
He pulled his hand away and sat up. He'd have climbed out of the bed, but he was still naked, and he had enough sense to know that dignity was not something you could preserve while standing unclothed in front of someone.
"Remus, I just -- listen, it's what we do, all right? Aurors? We look at people and we take them to pieces. I do it to everyone."
"You'll excuse me if I'm oversensitive to these things," he said, turning away. After a second, he felt her hands on his arms, her chin on his left shoulder. The barest brush of her body against his back. He remembered begging her to touch him, not to stop. He wasn't sure whether he was ashamed he'd begged, or happy that he hadn't really had to.
"It's too early in the morning for this," he muttered. "I'm sorry."
"I would have said it to anyone," she whispered.
"I know."
"I stayed because you were hurting. Not because I wanted..."
He turned his head, slightly. She had gone pink.
"Wanted...?" he prompted. She looked down, her nose pressed to his shoulder.
"A couple of the Order...think it would be...well, that is, they'd like to...know."
"Know?"
"About werewolves."
"Oh." He digested this. "You mean, what it's like to...oh, that's morbid..."
"Not really. The lure of the exotic."
He laughed, bitterly. "Exotic! Who..."
"Oh, you know. Women talk. Some of the...girls, my age..." He felt her shrug. "And Molly Weasley thinks you're handsome."
"Molly? But Arthur -- "
"She's married, Remus, not dead. And Blynton Blythe."
"But Blythe's a bloke -- " Remus was aware, now, of the shallow breathing that Tonks had mentioned. "Ah. Aha. What a well of information you are, Tonks."
"I won't tell anyone."
"I don't mind. I mean -- you tell who you want. What you want."
"And you."
He smiled. "Who would I tell?"
"I'm going to tell Molly," she said, wickedness in every syllable. He laughed outright.
"Tonks, you're too young for me," he said, when the laughter had settled.
"Course I am. I don't care."
"You will."
"Well, as long as we're both forewarned," she replied, kissing his shoulder. "Hungry?"
"Are you?"
"Ravenous."
***
"Hallo, Tonks!" Molly Weasley called from the kitchen, when Tonks walked into the front living room. She and Remus had gone in through the back door of Headquarters, and he'd gone straight to his rooms, pleading that he wanted some tea from his private stash before he'd feel able to face people again.
"Morning, Molly," Tonks replied with a smile, ducking into the kitchen and searching the cupboards for some cereal. "You're here early."
"We stayed the night. Got to be too late to go home after we stopped off searching, and Arthur thought we could use some time away from the children," Molly said fondly. "I might say the same thing about you."
"Oh, I was bringing Remus back," Tonks said lightly.
"Yes, that's right, you looked after him last night. I hope he wasn't too much trouble. Arthur said he was a bit rude."
"It was fine. Once he figured out I wasn't going anywhere, he settled down."
"I thought he might. Remus is many things, but I can't imagine him a rowdy drunk," Molly added. Tonks took milk from the fridge, added some to her cereal, and leaned on the counter, eating. "He's got too much control for that."
Tonks nearly snorted milk through her nose.
"Are you all right dear?" Molly asked.
"Fine," Tonks gasped. "Sorry, we were just...talking about that. Last night. Remus and control, I mean. He and I were talking about it."
"Have a nice long chat, did you? Probably did him the world of good."
"Not a particularly long chat," Tonks murmured. Molly set down her mug and regarded her.
"You're being awfully cryptic this morning," she observed. "And you've got a smile on your face like the cat that got the -- "
Tonks watched as amused realisation spread over Molly's face like a sunrise.
"You did, didn't you? You got yourself a nice yellow canary, didn't you, Tonks?"
Tonks grinned, and nodded. Molly began to laugh.
"Good for you! And for him, he could use a bit of -- oh, Arthur!"
Arthur Weasley, stepping into the kitchen, looked from one grinning woman to the other and sighed. "All right, what did I do?" he asked. Molly laughed and kissed him on the cheek.
"Do let me tell him, Tonks? They're such friends and he'll be glad to hear it -- "
Tonks smiled. "I don't think Remus will care. He said I could tell who I liked, he didn't mind."
"Tell me what?" Arthur asked.
"Tonks shagged Remus last night," Molly said, mischief dancing in her eyes. Arthur beamed.
"Well, it's about time someone did," he said, taking some of the milk Tonks had left in the carton and adding it to his tea. "Though I must say I wouldn't have -- good morning, Lupin!" he called, as Remus -- washed, shaved, and in clean clothes -- loomed in the doorway.
"Morning, Molly, Arthur," Remus replied, carrying his tea carefully to the breakfast table and seating himself. "Sorry about yesterday," he added, staring into his mug.
"Quite all right, old chap, I'd have done the same if I'd thought of it," Arthur said cheerfully. So cheerfully, in fact, that Remus looked up suspiciously.
All three of them were grinning at him. He rested his head on his hands.
"I did think you'd wait at least an hour, Tonks," he said, with an amused look.
"Sorry." Tonks tried very hard to look contrite. "Molly ambushed me."
"I think it's splendid," Arthur announced. "Bit of exercise, bit of fun, and you couldn't ask for a prettier girl to kiss than Nymphadora Tonks, I say."
"Thank you, Arthur," Remus said, covering his eyes as Tonks turned scarlet. "Very subtle. Very subdued."
"Oh, I'll keep mum," Arthur answered. "Well done."
Tonks looked a bit askance at this, but Arthur gave her a thumbs-up as he left the kitchen, followed by Molly, who was laughing too hard for words.
"You should have come down earlier, you missed the bit where he said it was about time someone shagged you," Tonks said sympathetically.
"Is my nonexistent sex life the occupation of the entire Order, or just most of it?" Remus asked.
"I'm pretty sure defeating the Dark Lord comes in somewhere, but I confess I've never seen it myself," Tonks replied, seating herself across from him. "You clean up all right, you know," she said. He smiled.
"You enjoyed yourself last night, did you?" he asked. "Aside from me being a drunken git?"
"Oh, I enjoyed that too."
"I'll make a note," Remus said wryly. "So what are your plans for the day?"
"Day off," she said. "The Order hasn't got much for me to do, so I thought I'd go home. I'll check in with Kingsley, make sure he hasn't got anything that needs seeing to, perhaps do some shopping. You?"
"I thought I'd sleep. Rather a lot," Remus replied. "I'm sure if there'd been any news about the verdict, we'd have heard. They'll probably wait until Monday now. So I shall sleep, and attempt not to think. At all."
"It must be hard, not having a regular job," Tonks said quietly.
"It's a bloody holiday," Remus said bitterly, into his tea.
"Well, have a good sleep," she replied, understanding that now was probably the time to let him alone for a while. She stood and set the now-empty cereal bowl in the sink, where a scrub brush began to wash it. "I'll be round tomorrow evening if you're here, Arthur's having one of his pot-luck dos."
"I should be," he said, with a nod. "Tonks, listen -- "
She cut him off with a kiss, quick and sweet, nibbling just a little on his bottom lip. He stared up at her, wide-eyed.
"See you then," she said, and was gone.
Remus, left in the kitchen with his cooling tea, touched the corner of his mouth with his thumb thoughtfully. After a while, tea growing cold, he finished it off and stood, moving through the quiet house carefully.
He'd always been bookish as a child, even before he was bitten, and he liked to read -- except during his most poverty-stricken days, he always had money for books, and he would read anything, voraciously. It was helpful, sometimes, too; books always gave him ideas for papers or monographs, and he could sometimes sell them to academic journals, newspapers, magazines. It wasn't much money, but it was something.
He had truly intended to get some sleep, after Tonks left. No matter how good Molly and Arthur were at keeping secrets, the rumours were sure to fly, and he wanted to be conveniently unavailable should anyone come knocking.
But some chance phrase he'd found, in the book he'd selected for reading before he fell asleep, sparked an interest. He'd gotten up and gone to the small stack of books on his desk, leafing through them until he found what he was looking for. After that he'd had to dress and go back downstairs to the Black family library, where he'd spent most of the afternoon (fortunately, buried in the stacks where no-one thought to look for him). He stopped to eat when he was hungry, but before he realised what had happened, it was nearly ten in the evening.
Better that way, perhaps. When he lay down, he didn't think about the hearing, or about Sirius. And he didn't think about Tonks.
But he dreamed about her.
He woke in the night and went back to work again, consulting books, scratching notes, feverishly copying out the rough draft and adding to it. He'd never been good at sleeping through the night at any rate. Hadn't James always bugged him about waking them all up with his midnight studying?
He slept again around two a.m. and woke feeling exhausted, but went back to work. If he could finish this article he was sure he could sell it, and if he didn't wrestle it onto the page now, he never would.
He didn't hear Arthur and Molly arrive or call for him; he didn't hear anyone else either, until someone Apparated outside his window with a bang that startled him so badly he nearly knocked over his inkwell.
He became aware that there were voices downstairs, shouts and greetings and laughter; if he listened hard he could pick out the Weasleys and Snape, Dumbledore and Kingsley, and others too.
He glanced down at the essay, which lacked only an introduction and a conclusion, sighed, and closed the book on his lap.
He wasn't in the mood for a dinner party, but he knew that Arthur had arranged this to keep everyone sane while they waited to hear from the inquiry board. So he dropped his books into his bag, rolled up his parchment around his quill and added that and a stoppered inkwell, and prepared to face the masses. If he was truly desperate to escape, he could always say he was just passing through to somewhere important.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, something exploded nearby, and he jumped; suddenly four or five people descended, scolding, apologising, and declaring that he looked white as a sheet.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." Fred and George chanted. "We were just testing out the new exploding gum products," Fred explained, pointing to a few small twists of pink chewing gum on the doorframe. "Stick 'em to a door and if someone walks through it, they explode. Very useful alarm system, and cheap."
"Also an effective murder weapon," Remus murmured, heart still hammering.
"Have some free of charge," George said, pressing a pack into Remus' hand. Remus very quickly found someone else's pocket to stuff it into.
"Are you okay? What on earth -- Weasleys!" Tonks exclaimed, examining the doorway. "Fred, I'm going to kill you!"
"What about me?" George called -- they were already halfway across the room, demonstrating the gum to someone else.
"You'd best just watch your step, since I can't tell you apart!" she shouted. She turned back to Remus, straightening his collar. "Are you all right?"
"I'm having a heart attack, but otherwise fine," he managed, pushing himself away from the wall. "I think I'll get a glass of water..."
Tonks followed him as he pushed through the press of people in the smallish living room -- once a den, Remus thought, for Sirius' father -- and into the kitchen. It was warmer here but less crowded; Molly was stirring something on the counter.
"Remus! When did you show up?" she asked. "I thought you'd gone out."
"Buried in work," Remus answered, setting the book bag on the counter. He was shaking, just a little, as he poured himself a glass of water. "Anything I can help with in here?"
"Would you keep an eye on the roast?" Molly asked, a note of pleading in her voice. "I did so want to go say hello to a few people..."
"I think I can be safely employed in making sure cooked meat does not escape," Remus replied. Molly smiled and patted his arm as she passed.
"You look a bit like death warmed over, you know," Tonks said, coming to lean on the counter next to him. "I hope you didn't spend all weekend thinking about the inquiry."
"I didn't sleep well," he said, which was perfectly true. He felt heat creep over his cheeks as he remembered one dream in particular that had been a reason he hadn't slept well.
"There's a little colour," Tonks said critically. "Really, your cheekbones are criminally high."
Remus looked at her, confused. "They're just cheekbones, Tonks."
"Perhaps to you," she replied. "To the rest of the world they are a mighty weapon in the war between the sexes."
"Yes, Remus Lupin, Don Juan. Somehow I think not. Chewing gum gives me palpitations, I think I'd rather just find a corner and read."
"That's not what you said Friday night," Tonks replied. He'd just got the last blush under control...
"Yes, well. You weren't exactly a shy violet yourself," he reminded her, rather more curtly than he meant to. A grin broke over his face. "In fact I don't recall, in our strange and rather varied friendship, you ever making quite those noises before -- "
"Stop it!" she laughed, shoving his arm. Water spilled on his waistcoat. "Oh, dear -- I'm sorry -- "
The shock of cold water did him good; he had a certain amount of dignity to uphold, and here he was hiding in the kitchen, flirting with a woman so much younger -- she was Charlie Weasley's age, for crying out loud --
Of course, on the other hand, Charlie was a fine grown man, holding a steady job and all -- and so was Tonks. Well, not a man, obviously.
But, said a small voice in the back of his head, she's very finely grown indeed...
Tonks had managed to acquire a trail of paper towels and was trying to sop up the water which was making a dark spot on his waistcoat. He took her hand away, gently, grasping her wrist and pulling it to the side.
"It'll dry in a few minutes, it's warm in here," he said. "Don't worry, Tonks, I'm fine. No harm done."
"I spilled some punch on Snape already," she said. "This is why I hate parties. I'm always knocking people over or dropping my food or something. I do wish I could be just a little more graceful -- "
Remus, still holding her wrist, found himself watching, detached, as he pulled her slightly closer. He tilted his head until their foreheads were almost touching.
"I find you quite graceful, Tonks," he said quietly.
"You do?" she asked. He could feel her breath on his cheek.
"When sufficiently motivated," he replied.
"Come along, the food's right in -- oh."
Remus looked up, past Tonks' shoulder, as Molly and about a dozen of their Order colleagues came through the kitchen door. Tonks stepped away swiftly, treading on one of his feet as she did so. Molly, ever the mother hen, composed herself quickly.
"You see, we've got two of our top agents guarding it," she said, with a light laugh. "Take the cover off the roast, Remus, if you would, and Tonks, can you -- oh, no dear, better not toss the salad..."
***
Remus had never paid much attention to the way he was treated by the other members of the Order. He was just one of them, and he was grateful that he was more or less accepted, so he didn't look too closely. It had become a habit with him, in the Order. Don't look, in case you might not like what you see...
But Tonks had said things to him, about him, that made him examine faces a little more closely at this gathering. Not just the women, though it started that way; he watched how some of them watched him, saw one or two girls maneuvering quite subtly to end up next to him in line for the food. He wasn't sure whether it was flattering or disturbing. Surely it couldn't just be...what had Tonks said? The lure of the exotic? These women, whom he'd thought to be sensible, logical people, couldn't want to get to know him out of pure morbid curiosity about werewolves?
He watched the men, wondering if they saw it too, and realised something quite strange was going on.
A couple of the younger ones, who were nominally under the authority of the twins, were mimicking him, taking the food he took, shyly standing near whatever group he was talking to. He had always assumed that, at any party, people constantly moved from group to group, but he began to realise that he was the one moving -- that most everyone else stayed put, or at least didn't move quite so often as he did. And when he arrived at a new group, they deferred to his authority, or fell silent if he had a question.
It began to make him downright uncomfortable.
These people he'd thought were his friends, were they afraid of him? The silence that fell over them when he approached -- was that because they'd been discussing him? Surely not, it was the height of ego to presume, but what other explanation was there?
He sidled up to Arthur just as the other man was finishing his meal. "Can I have a word?" he asked quietly. Arthur nodded, and excused himself from the trio of people he was talking to.
"What's the matter? Mission from Dumbledore?" Arthur asked, when they were alone in one corner of the kitchen. Remus shook his head.
"Do you notice anything odd about the Order?" he said, trying to look as if he were simply talking shop. Arthur's brow furrowed.
"Odd? How?"
"Just..." Remus gave him a frustrated look. "There are people following me, Arthur. I was taken for a spy once before, you know, and I'm not keen -- "
Arthur held up a hand, stopping him. "No-one thinks you're a spy, Remus. Who's following you?"
"Only about half the women in the organisation, and -- "
"Your harem, you mean?"
Remus stared, openly horrified. "My what?"
"It's what the younger lads call it. I did wonder why you had so much trouble finding a girl when about ten of them would be willing, at any time, to follow you home," Arthur said, amused. "I applaud your taste, though. Tonks is -- "
" -- Tonks is Tonks," Remus said irritably. "That was just the once. They're not the only ones, you know. And people stop talking when I'm around, until I talk, and -- "
He broke off, because Arthur was looking at him with a mixture of admiration and pity.
"For a smart man, Lupin, you're a bit on the thick side," he said. Remus bridled at this. "Didn't you notice?"
"Notice what? What am I supposed to notice? Obviously someone ought to tell me, since I'm a bit on the thick side!" Remus hissed.
"Who runs the Order?" Arthur asked.
"Dumbledore, of course. What's that got to -- "
"And who keeps track of everyone and makes sure things get done?"
"You and Molly, but -- "
"And who actually figures out how Dumbledore's orders get carried out, and supervises the plans, and trains new people, and assigns people to their jobs?" Arthur continued. Remus pursed his lips.
"Well, the twins are pretty good at planning, and -- "
"Remus, who tells them to do those things? Who makes sure they get done?" Arthur sighed at the other man's blank look. "You do. They're not talking about you when you walk up. They stop talking because it's the respectful thing to do. The youngsters follow you around because they want to hear what you're saying. They want to be like you."
"Like me? Why?"
"Because you're the leader, Remus. Please do try to grasp this, Molly isn't going to wait for me to go say hello to Kingsley much longer. Dumbledore tells us what to do and you tell us how to do it. If Dumbledore died tomorrow, who'd take over? Me? Not likely. You know the most about what's happening, and you get the most information back from the outside." Arthur clapped him on the arm. "Welcome to responsibility and leadership, Remus. It's not much fun, but someone has to do it."
And he walked away, leaving the werewolf standing in a corner, holding an empty plate, bereft of a single coherent thought.
Chapter 2
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Please, don't ever stop writing.
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Well, we shall see.
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I'm wandering off to read the rest, now.