[wip] [the dark things you fear]
(( Work in progress. Not sure if I'm going to add anything to this. Might change the verb tense. Might even change the POV (it's from Tonks' right now). I don't know. This is the gist of it, though, at least. It takes place in July of 1997, a week or two before the Order gets Harry from Privet Drive. When I'm sure I'm finished with it, it might be my fic for the prompt "the dark things you fear" at 2x5obsessions. ))
He's usually a rather quiet man but tonight there's an additional quality to his silence. He's more sullen than is normal for him, even given the wizarding world's current state. He seems tired, resigned, defeated... Tonks imagines him as an old rug, fraying at the edges and worn thin in the middle and it makes her heart ache a little.
After dinner, he retreats to his study. Tonks tries to go about her own business but after about an hour she just can't stand it anymore. "All right, Remus?" she asks cautiously from the doorway. She doesn't go any closer yet because he might be working on something for the Order that it would be better for her not to see or know about just now. Or he might simply prefer to be left alone at the moment.
He looks up from the books and maps and rolls of parchment in front of him and smiles weakly. "Yes, fine, thank you," he answers and she knows he's not being honest.
She crosses the room to him and looks at the organized chaos on the desktop. Newspapers and maps, mostly; it seems he's tracking something and looking for patterns. She doesn't ask for details. They keep their work for the Order on a need-to-know basis as much as possible, just in case the wrong people get their hands on one of them. "You're sure nothing's wrong?" she asks.
He hesitates for a moment and says, "Only the full moon is in a few days."
"Ah," Tonks says quietly. Without Snape to make the potion for him, Remus' monthly transformations are back to horribly painful, torturous, nightmarish ordeals. She shifts a couple of scrolls aside and sits on the edge of the huge, heavy oaken desk, hands in her lap, facing Remus. "It makes you sad..." He nods, wordlessly. She tilts her head and asks, "Why? I would be angry."
"Anger isn't helpful," he tells her, taking her hands in his. The gesture makes her smile a little, despite the serious subject. He's not always good at simple affection like that; he still isn't used to people who don't flinch away from physical contact with him.
"Sadness is?" she asks.
She can tell by the look on his face that he thinks she has a fair point. Not quite fair enough to persuade him to change his attitude, though. "This is how things are for me, Dora," he murmurs. "Working myself into a rage over it won't do anything but show me to be the unstable beast people already think I am."
Her heart aches again and she pulls a hand out of his grasp to touch his face. "You're afraid of being a monster." It is a statement, not a question, but he gives an answer anyway, nodding and not quite meeting her eyes. She slides her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug. "Remus, nobody who matters will think any less of you for being angry sometimes," she promises. "Most of us worry because you aren't. Having a tantrum now and again is probably the most human thing you could do, actually."
Face buried against her shoulder, he shakes his head a little, still apparently resisting the idea of being anything less than perfectly civilized. Tonks strokes his greying hair and kisses the top of his head. "Sweetheart," she says, because his heart is sweet, even if he doesn't believe it, "stop worrying about being a human or a monster, and just let yourself be you. Then you'll see you're a much better person than you think."
He doesn't argue but he doesn't agree, either. They stay like that for several long minutes, just embracing and leaning against each other. Finally he turns his face to press a kiss to the side of her neck and says, "I have some work to finish before I can go to bed." She nods, gives him a squeeze, and leaves him alone. As she retreats back to the kitchen to listen to Muggle news on the radio, she hears the study door close and lock behind her.
It's a full twenty minutes at least before a loud crash disturbs her, making her leap up, wand at the ready, and run down the hall. The door is still locked and she's about to charm it open when she takes a moment to stop and listen. There is more crashing and banging and shattering from inside the room but there are no voices. This isn't a Death Eater attack. There is no duel happening on the other side of the door, unless one counts a man struggling with himself. Tonks stands frozen, listening. She touches the doorknob twice more but decides against entering both times.
Finally, the room falls silent. She presses her ear to the door and can hear, very faintly, the sound of Remus' heavy breathing. She pictures him standing in the middle of the room, panting slightly and peering around at the books and papers and various knick-knacks strewn about him on the floor. Soon she hears the low rumble of his voice as he starts cleaning up after himself. She considers calling out to him and asking if he's all right. Instead, she goes back to the kitchen.
When he emerges from the room some time later and goes to the kitchen to make himself tea, she's still there listening to the news. She looks up when he comes in but he doesn't meet her gaze. He looks slightly embarrassed but, she's pleased to notice, a little less downtrodden. He fixes a cup of tea for her, too, and pushes it across the table to her as he sits. "Anything interesting?" he asks, nodding toward the radio.
She shakes her head. "A Muggle fashion designer was killed, but it's nothing to do with Voldemort."
Remus makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and sips his tea. They stay quiet for a few moments until he breaks the silence again. "D'you reckon your mother still has that desk she offered to give to us? I ... appear to be in need of a new one all of the sudden..."
He's usually a rather quiet man but tonight there's an additional quality to his silence. He's more sullen than is normal for him, even given the wizarding world's current state. He seems tired, resigned, defeated... Tonks imagines him as an old rug, fraying at the edges and worn thin in the middle and it makes her heart ache a little.
After dinner, he retreats to his study. Tonks tries to go about her own business but after about an hour she just can't stand it anymore. "All right, Remus?" she asks cautiously from the doorway. She doesn't go any closer yet because he might be working on something for the Order that it would be better for her not to see or know about just now. Or he might simply prefer to be left alone at the moment.
He looks up from the books and maps and rolls of parchment in front of him and smiles weakly. "Yes, fine, thank you," he answers and she knows he's not being honest.
She crosses the room to him and looks at the organized chaos on the desktop. Newspapers and maps, mostly; it seems he's tracking something and looking for patterns. She doesn't ask for details. They keep their work for the Order on a need-to-know basis as much as possible, just in case the wrong people get their hands on one of them. "You're sure nothing's wrong?" she asks.
He hesitates for a moment and says, "Only the full moon is in a few days."
"Ah," Tonks says quietly. Without Snape to make the potion for him, Remus' monthly transformations are back to horribly painful, torturous, nightmarish ordeals. She shifts a couple of scrolls aside and sits on the edge of the huge, heavy oaken desk, hands in her lap, facing Remus. "It makes you sad..." He nods, wordlessly. She tilts her head and asks, "Why? I would be angry."
"Anger isn't helpful," he tells her, taking her hands in his. The gesture makes her smile a little, despite the serious subject. He's not always good at simple affection like that; he still isn't used to people who don't flinch away from physical contact with him.
"Sadness is?" she asks.
She can tell by the look on his face that he thinks she has a fair point. Not quite fair enough to persuade him to change his attitude, though. "This is how things are for me, Dora," he murmurs. "Working myself into a rage over it won't do anything but show me to be the unstable beast people already think I am."
Her heart aches again and she pulls a hand out of his grasp to touch his face. "You're afraid of being a monster." It is a statement, not a question, but he gives an answer anyway, nodding and not quite meeting her eyes. She slides her arms around his shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug. "Remus, nobody who matters will think any less of you for being angry sometimes," she promises. "Most of us worry because you aren't. Having a tantrum now and again is probably the most human thing you could do, actually."
Face buried against her shoulder, he shakes his head a little, still apparently resisting the idea of being anything less than perfectly civilized. Tonks strokes his greying hair and kisses the top of his head. "Sweetheart," she says, because his heart is sweet, even if he doesn't believe it, "stop worrying about being a human or a monster, and just let yourself be you. Then you'll see you're a much better person than you think."
He doesn't argue but he doesn't agree, either. They stay like that for several long minutes, just embracing and leaning against each other. Finally he turns his face to press a kiss to the side of her neck and says, "I have some work to finish before I can go to bed." She nods, gives him a squeeze, and leaves him alone. As she retreats back to the kitchen to listen to Muggle news on the radio, she hears the study door close and lock behind her.
It's a full twenty minutes at least before a loud crash disturbs her, making her leap up, wand at the ready, and run down the hall. The door is still locked and she's about to charm it open when she takes a moment to stop and listen. There is more crashing and banging and shattering from inside the room but there are no voices. This isn't a Death Eater attack. There is no duel happening on the other side of the door, unless one counts a man struggling with himself. Tonks stands frozen, listening. She touches the doorknob twice more but decides against entering both times.
Finally, the room falls silent. She presses her ear to the door and can hear, very faintly, the sound of Remus' heavy breathing. She pictures him standing in the middle of the room, panting slightly and peering around at the books and papers and various knick-knacks strewn about him on the floor. Soon she hears the low rumble of his voice as he starts cleaning up after himself. She considers calling out to him and asking if he's all right. Instead, she goes back to the kitchen.
When he emerges from the room some time later and goes to the kitchen to make himself tea, she's still there listening to the news. She looks up when he comes in but he doesn't meet her gaze. He looks slightly embarrassed but, she's pleased to notice, a little less downtrodden. He fixes a cup of tea for her, too, and pushes it across the table to her as he sits. "Anything interesting?" he asks, nodding toward the radio.
She shakes her head. "A Muggle fashion designer was killed, but it's nothing to do with Voldemort."
Remus makes a non-committal sound at the back of his throat and sips his tea. They stay quiet for a few moments until he breaks the silence again. "D'you reckon your mother still has that desk she offered to give to us? I ... appear to be in need of a new one all of the sudden..."