Obligatory "Justifying the Remus/Tonks in DH" fic
Title: Under the impression
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ship: Remus/Tonks, Remus/Sirius
Genre: Angst
Rating: R
Warnings: SPOILERS FROM DEATHLY HALLOWS!
Disclaimer: Definitely not mine.
A/N: I had so much trouble writing this, it’s unbelievable. This is the forced product of massive writer’s block, so feedback is much appreciated.
Summary: Remus struggles to adapt to the life he never dreamed of.
“Remus?”
Remus’ eyes flutter open, adjusting slowly to the dusty morning light as it pools in the creases of scarlet curtains. “Yeah?”
Sirius props himself up on his elbow, letting the sheets slip down his naked chest. “Will you move in with me?”
He can feel the stunned silence in the air between them, and presses on.
“I was just thinking about what we were going to do after this year, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. It wouldn’t be fancy or anything, but it would save us the trouble of having to Apparate back and forth, and that way I could be there for you during the full moons and stuff. And I’d make you breakfast,” he grins. “Not everyday, mind, as I reckon you’d get a bit tired of my cooking after a while, but I’d always be there when you got home, and I’d even let you buy the groceries from time to time because I know how you hate it when I insist on paying for everything.”
“You’re rambling,” Remus titters, the corners of his mouth barely holding back a smirk.
“You wouldn’t have to be alone,” Sirius mumbles quietly, tracing one long finger down the side of Remus’ chest.
Remus says nothing, and focuses his attention on Sirius’ hands instead.
“I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to,” Sirius picks up again, more anxiously this time. “I know it’s a bit early to be asking, really. It’s just… I love you, you know that?”
“Sirius,” Remus laughs finally, fingers slipping through black hair to the base of Sirius’ neck, drawing him closer. “Of course I do.”
*
It’s not that Remus doesn’t like her. He does - very much so.
He likes the way her eyes shine when she looks at him, full of hope and youthful exuberance. He likes the spring in her step, her optimistic views on life and her desperate determination to make things work. He likes the way her long nails dig into his scalp when she tangles her hands in his graying hair, the feel of her soft lips and warm skin.
There are a lot of things Remus likes about Tonks, and it is for this reason that it takes him a while to understand why he still isn’t satisfied.
He wakes in the morning to the sting of pulled muscles and the smell of burnt toast. It’s a moment before he remembers what day it is, and sometimes it takes him an extra few seconds to recognize the stucco ceiling as his own. He yawns and stretches, frowning at his empty bed before he catches snatches of an obscure Weird Sisters song drifting in from the kitchen in time to the rattle of the dishes. Tonks has a habit of singing to herself in the morning, and while it’s a quirk that took Remus a few weeks to get used to, it has never really bothered him. In fact, she has a lovely singing voice. Much better than Sirius’, at any rate. Remus can’t imagine why anyone would object to hearing it in the first place.
He pulls on an old housecoat and pads barefoot across the cold tiles, kissing Tonks on the cheek as he sits down at the table.
“Morning,” he smiles politely, opening the paper set in front of him.
“Morning, Remus,” she replies, and settles down beside him.
Together, they eat whatever could be salvaged of the toast, engaging in fractured conversation about work, the news, the Order, or any combination of the three. Sometimes Tonks will tell him about a dream she had the previous night, about flying or falling or traveling to Egypt. Remus always smiles and frowns and laughs in all the right places, nodding where appropriate and wishing he had something more to contribute. It’s been years since he’s had dreams. And even then, they were simply flashes of colour, blurred faces and familiar silhouettes as they tumbled through his mind. Not real dreams. He can’t remember if he ever had those to begin with.
They lead a domestic enough life, with both of them keeping fairly regular hours and a surprisingly predictable schedule. They kiss before leaving for work, eat meat and potatoes for dinner, and have company over at least once every two weeks. Most days, Tonks bounces around the flat, laughing loudly as she trips over the shoes in the doorway or the snag in the carpet. She’ll eat ice cream when it’s cold out and spend evenings entertaining Remus with her latest re-enactments of amusing mishaps at the Ministry or extravagant plans to travel the world with complete strangers she meets along the way. On these days Remus smiles easily, chuckling when Tonks crawls up to him on the sofa in one of his oversized jumpers, laying her chin on his shoulder in attempts to read phrases from his latest literary conquest. They might reminisce together over a bottle of red wine, have stupid arguments over the laundry, or go walking arm-in-arm in the rain, simply content in each other’s company.
However, there are times where Remus wakes to a sense of self-disappointment, and walks around the flat only to find it too clean, too austere for his tastes, even though he feels he has never known anything else. He doesn’t talk much on these days, and when he does, it’s only to ask Tonks -once again- to turn down that blasted record or to stop pretending as if she understands him. He always feels bad about it afterwards, but pushes apologies to the back of his mind in favour of spending long hours looking over old letters and photographs with stinging eyes. She always turns to him with sympathy and longing and other incomprehensible things Remus has no patience for, but when she asks if there’s anything she can do, he rolls over and tells her to leave him alone. These nights, Tonks stays awake late into the early morning, watching him as he writhes under the covers, clinging to the sheets like a child to his mother’s leg, whispering words she’ll force herself to forget she ever heard come morning.
In such cases, she always leaves him tea on the nightstand for when he wakes up, stroking his hair worriedly as she gets changed.
She never puts enough sugar in, but Remus never tells her to do otherwise, so she continues to make it the way she always has done. Bitter. Reliable.
Sometimes, Remus wonders if this is her idea of commitment.
*
“Mrs. Potter,” says James, grinning ear-to-ear as he says the words, “May I have this dance?”
Mr. Evans laughs as he steps aside to let James cut in, and Lily’s eyes sparkle as she takes his hand and drags him to the center of the dance floor. She is beautiful in her white wedding dress, red hair falling lightly at her sides as James twirls her around, entranced. The guests stare at the radiant couple, their faces lit up with pride and happiness as they toast their second glasses of champagne. For a few hours, the war is forgotten in place of Lily and James Potter, and to them it seems as if it never existed.
Sirius grins as he sits down next to Remus, shirt un-tucked and his best dress robes already rumpled from all the festivities. “Still picking away at dessert, I see?” Sirius teases.
Remus puts down the fork he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and rips his eyes away from the newlyweds. “Hey, Sirius.”
Sirius’ look is a little too understanding as he bites his lip and reaches for Remus’ knee. “Jealous?”
“You know I’m happy for them,” Remus smiles weakly, not quite meeting Sirius’ eyes.
“That’s not what I asked.”
Remus sighs at this, defeated. “I just look at them, married, dancing in front of everyone…” He lowers his voice, somewhat regretfully. “It’s everything we can’t have, Sirius.”
Sirius squeezes his knee reassuringly. “What, all this?” He laughs. “We don’t need it. We don’t need any of it. We don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You should know that by now.”
Remus looks at him sharply, as if surprised, and then leans over and kisses him. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Not at all, Moony,” Sirius chuckles, poking at the rest of Remus’ chocolate mousse. “Although,” he adds, licking a finger, “I imagine you would look rather fetching in a wedding gown.”
“Tosser,” Remus grumbles good-naturedly, and smacks him with his spoon.
*
Remus can feel the pressure mounting as the days go by. It unravels slowly at his feet, falling apart like a loose thread, twisting up his ankles until it reaches his throat. There are times he worries it will choke him, finally judging him incapable of carrying out what has been expected of him for so long. Indeed, he sometimes finds it hard to breathe when Tonks talks a little too loudly on the phone about Bill and Fleur or her parents’ anniversary or what a nice couple Harry and Ginny would make, don’t you think? His smiles are brief and somewhat forced as the air tightens around him, but he always manages to smile nonetheless.
The worst is when they go over to the Burrow for dinner. Remus can’t even reach for the salad without Molly’s eyes boring into his skull, dropping not-so-subtle hints about what he should do with his love life in front of company. He is always civil about it, requesting that what he and Tonks decide to do remain their own business, and quickly changes the topic to far more depressing matters. Molly purses her lips, throws Tonks a sympathetic glance, and bites her tongue with a frown as Remus calmly looks the other way.
He doesn’t think much of it until one night where he hears a voice drift in from the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, long after the day’s meeting was over.
“He’ll come around eventually,” the voice says.
He tenses at the words, and edges closer to the door.
“Hestia’s right,” says another. “Especially after all you’ve done for him.”
“He had better,” cuts in Molly with her confident scorn, and Remus can just see her standing with a hand on her hip as she watches over Tonks. “If he knows what’s good for him.”
Remus is silently furious at this. On one hand, he wonders when his relationship with Tonks had become public gossip, his life monitored by those who know nothing about it. He is used to people interfering with the way he lives his life - Merlin knows the Ministry and the Werewolf Registry have made it difficult enough at it is - but he is a stranger to his friends and colleagues talking about him in such disapproving whispers, waving his reasons aside as though he has no control over the matter. He wishes Tonks would come to him with her problems in cases like this, but deep down he knows that sometimes Tonks needs comfort and security like Remus needs space, and so he doesn’t bring it up over breakfast.
However, he doesn’t fail to notice that Tonks becomes increasingly desperate, craving his attention and yearning for his touch with raw helplessness in her eyes as she waits for him to acknowledge the matter. Remus hates seeing her like this. He hates watching her hair turn lifeless and brown, hates the way she looks at him expectantly every time he opens his mouth, hates how she curls into a ball on the couch, struggling to be cold and unresponsive when it’s clear she’d rather be anything but.
But it is the pain that gets him in the end. He remembers lying in bed as a wide-eyed teenager, listening to Sirius stumble back from the Room of Requirement at two in the morning, his stomach in knots. He remembers waiting for the day where Sirius would wake up one morning and realize he liked girls after all, and what was he still doing fooling around with the werewolf? He remembers the smell of alcohol and foreign men on Sirius’ breath back when they thought each other traitors during the war, and he knows.
He knows what it is to want something permanent.
He also knows that wizards and witches are dying left and right, and if he doesn’t do something now, he may never get the chance to do anything again. Remus can feel how much Tonks wants it, how much she needs it, and he truly and honestly does want to make her happy. If nothing else, he won’t deny her that.
It is a warm summer’s day when he buys the nicest ring he can afford, takes Tonks out to dinner and proposes. She squeals and kisses him, crying and laughing all at once and showing off her ring to anyone who looks her way.
Remus smiles as he twirls her around and dips her on the dance floor, and tries as best he can to ignore the guilt that festers in his stomach like an incurable disease.
*
"Sirius," he groans, hands playing over the slow slide of skin, digging his fingernails deeper into rocking hips as Sirius' breathing becomes more and more erratic. He can feel the blood pounding in his ears as he shuts his eyes tight and focuses on the body beneath him as it inhales and exhales to every push and pull, tenses and relaxes to the rhythm of Remus' uneven gasps.
“Harder,” Sirius grinds out, his voice harsh.
They halt for an infinitesimal moment, hovering at the brink before falling over the edge with jagged cries and loud moans, Remus’ hips slamming into Sirius hard and fast until the world pulses in short bursts of brightness as it unfurls around them.
His heart beating strong against Sirius’ back, Remus murmurs secrets into sticky tangles of black hair before he pulls out and rolls over, letting his head fall back onto the pillow with a soft thump.
Sirius reaches across him clumsily, grappling for his lighter on the bed side table.
“I don’t know what you do to me, Moony, but Merlin…” Sirius sighs, smelling of sex and sweat and cigarettes. “Every - fucking - time.”
*
They don’t have sex until the third night after their wedding.
It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but there is a certain formality to it now, certain unprecedented expectations that go along with it now that it actually means something. Tonks no doubt sees it another milestone in their relationship. Remus, however, sees it as an official severing of ties to whatever he ever had with Sirius. The thought, though perhaps irrational and slightly exaggerated to begin with, scares him shitless.
The first night he manages to put it off blaming it on the moon, disappearing for the night and coming back tired and grey in the morning. He does a convincing job of it, too, feigning illness with a gravelly rasp to his voice, dripping new blood from old scars.
He looks at her that evening, wretched, broken and apologetic, and says: “Full moon tonight.”
Tonks finds it easier to believe him. She nods sympathetically, draws him close and whispers: “Wretched timing, really.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Tonks is too afraid to check the calendar, and doesn’t argue.
He spends the next day recuperating in bed, pretending to sleep. He only opens his eyes to accept lunch, dinner and a cup of tea when she brings it to him on a tray. He meets her gaze evenly every time, and she shivers under the force of it.
The third night, he goes out and buys candles and rose petals and all that sappy sentimental stuff he and Sirius used to laugh over, and fucks his wife into the mattress.
It’s everything it should be, really. Remus follows her lead, going slower or faster or harder when she tells him to, and he kisses and caresses her and smiles into her mouth when he feels her fingernails scrape against his back. He is confident and considerate, and realizes he should feel happy or proud or something when Tonks looks up at him with awe and admiration in her eyes, but instead he feels like a traitor.
Even so, he worries that when he comes it won’t be her name he shouts, so instead he bites his lip and makes no sound at all.
After a while, he finds the sex doesn’t bother him as much. It might be clean and automatic, frenzied and rushed or even something close to affectionate. It might be about things they’ve lost control of, things that no longer matter, things that matter too much to think about. It might be about trying to communicate the things they wish they’d never said. Sometimes Remus leaves red, swollen bite marks at her neck and bruises at her sides from wishing she was someone else and then hating himself for thinking it.
If she doesn’t quite look him in the eye the next morning, Remus never notices.
He notices when she stops singing, though.
*
Harry laughs and claps his hands, reaching out with chubby fingers in attempts to clamber back onto the toy broomstick hovering by Remus’ knee.
“Oh, no, I think that’s enough Quidditch for one day,” Sirius smiles, picking Harry up and placing him in his crib.
“I might’ve tried out for the House team if I had known then that all it involved was dodging poorly thrown beanbags,” Remus remarks with a smirk.
“Shut it, you,” Sirius chuckles, elbowing him in the side. “I’m trying to give the kid a proper education, here. I’m not having you corrupt James’ sprog with manners, propriety and…poetry.”
Remus scoffs at this. “What, your mother sang you nursery rhymes that didn’t rhyme?”
”I’ll have you know she didn’t sing to me at all. And thank God, too. Have you heard her singing voice?” Remus raises a eyebrow, amused. “And you’re lucky you never will,” Sirius continues. “Besides, we Blacks were far too posh to read nursery rhymes to our offspring. My little aristocratic ears heard nothing less than blank verse.”
Remus snorts. “Shakespeare?” he asks incredulously.
“No, something more along the lines of beheading Muggles. And maybe the occasional sheep. I’ll have you know I had a very tragic childhood” Sirius sniffs in a ridiculous attempt at self-pity.
They both double over laughing.
“Moo-ny!” Harry calls from the crib (because he can’t quite pronounce Sirius’ name yet). “‘m tired,” he pouts, crossing his arms as he frowns at the two grown men clutching at their sides.
Remus purses his lips. “God, we’re crap babysitters, aren’t we?”
“The worst,” agrees Sirius, picking up his godson and sending the snitch-and-quaffle mobile spinning in the process. “Sorry, Harry,” he whispers as he rocks the infant gently in his arms. “We won’t bother you again,” he says, placing a kiss to the wayward black hair.
Remus’ eyes soften as he looks at the two of them. “Did you ever think you’d have kids?” he asks quietly.
“Not really. I reckon it’d be bloody murder on my figure,” he winks. He tugs Remus closer with a hush. “Look. He’s already asleep.”
Remus squeezes his hand as they watch Harry in silence.
Remus Lupin doesn’t allow himself many joys in life, but in the turbulent and traumatizing months to come, he allows himself to remember this - the warm, reassuring feeling of watching Sirius cradle Harry in his arms as the sun hits the horizon, the world falling into peaceful slumber around them.
In some ways, it’s more than enough.
*
In all his years, Remus has never seen himself as a family man.
When Tonks tells him that she’s pregnant, he knows he really shouldn’t be surprised. He’s spent enough time with Lily before Harry’s birth to know what it meant when Tonks started throwing up, acting on hormonal impulses and asking for bok choy in the middle of the night. He also knows that their flat has a charming little backyard with a pair of old swings, and an extra bedroom next to theirs that’s the perfect size for a nursery. He’s not stupid, and he knows he shouldn’t be surprised.
He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is.
“We never agreed on this!” Remus protests to his wife as she sits tapping her foot in his favourite armchair, violet eyes blazing.
“What, no ‘congratulations, dear, I’m so happy for the both us’?” Tonks asks in a dangerous mockery of Remus’ voice.
“Are you telling me you did it on purpose?” Remus gapes, grabbing handfuls of his hair in exasperation.
Tonks opens her mouth indignantly, her roots quickly turning to a deep, coal black as she stands up angrily. “No, I didn’t do a preventive charm,” she grates out between her teeth. “Are you fucking happy now?”
“You could’ve at least spoken to me about it first! Do you have any idea what this means?”
“I have every idea what this means! It means we’ll be a family, Remus.” She steps closer to him, her dark hair growing past her shoulders, and pokes him in the chest. “That’s what families do. They. Have. Kids.”
Remus paces furiously, a hand covering his eyes as he mutters viciously under his breath.
“What?” Tonks shouts, going up to him and grabbing him by the shoulders. “What is so wrong with having a baby? Tell me!”
Remus meets her gaze with a locked jaw and a madness to his amber eyes so fierce that she almost steps back. “The child,” he says, quietly.
“What?”
“Don’t you have any idea what could happen to the child? What if he’s a werewolf? Do you know how much pain he’d go through, just to stay alive each month? I would rather die than inflict that kind of torture on anyone!” He spits out the consonants, voice steadily increasing in volume. “He’d be discriminated against for the rest of his life; he’d be an outcast from the day he was born, he’d have to keep secrets his whole life, struggle to make a living, know that everyone, everywhere would disgust him for what he was -”
“Remus,” Tonks interjects, her voice breaking.
“…he’d hardly have any rights to his name - Tonks, it was illegal for me to have kids back when I was-” The words “with Sirius” lay suspended in the air.
“-your age!” he finishes somewhat belatedly. “How can you bring a child into the world knowing that it might not even have a chance at life to begin with?” He is shaking now, and Tonks reaches out to him.
“Remus,” she says, eyes watering. “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf. You have people who love you, and we’ll be there to love our child. We can make this work. And, who knows, he or she might not even have the condition after all and we can -“
“THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!” Remus roars, even though he never shouts, never loses control, and he knows somehow, that things are going to be different from now on.
Tonks has fallen back into the armchair, terrified and utterly destroyed, and Remus looks at her and feels as if he’s going to be sick.
“Nymphadora…” he pleads, and his voice comes out scratched and broken.
“Don’t!” she shrieks, and the shrill sound reverberates through the flat. She lowers her voice with a sob. “Just… don’t, Remus,” she trails off wretchedly, her head in her hands.
It’s the first time Remus has seen her cry.
That night, he holds her to his chest and nothing more is said apart from the inconsistent heartbeat shared between them.
There are deep circles under his eyes when he wakes up in the morning, and he is relieved to find Tonks sitting by his side with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand.
“Thanks,” he says with a grateful quirk at the corner of his lips, and takes it appreciatively. “Sorry about yesterday. I overreacted.”
Tonks chews on her bottom lip and slides closer to him. “Me too.” She reaches a hand out to trace patterns over the scars on his bare chest and adds: “I meant what I said though; we can make this work, Remus.”
Remus nods and looks down, fisting his hands in the bed sheets.
“Trust me, for once. Don’t you love me?” she teases, although it’s easy for Remus to recognize the waver of insecurity that runs through the words.
“Of course I do,” he says calmly, with a practiced smile.
He doesn’t bother to look up to see if she smiles back.