[Kaleidoscope update] Any Road Runs Two Ways
Right! So, I'm supposed to be finishing the last three HBP installments of the Kaleidoscope series so I can get on with revising Part II. But along the way, this DH plotbunny intervened.
This story needs a few notes, too, I'm afraid. It's not 100% new, because it incorporates a drabble and a ficlet which weren't originally going to be part of the series (until I realized, recently, that this point in time really does need to be included): Restless and Taking Care. But there are also two completely new scenes, and the older pieces underwent a fair amount of revision in order to knit this all together into one coherent (*cough*) hurt/comfort story. (The two new scenes are long enough to qualify this post for my h/c bingo card -- for "unwanted transformation," which I suppose is a bit of a freebie in the R/T fandom, heh.)
One more note: people who have been following all of Kaleidoscope might notice that there's a good bit of thematic overlap between this story and Moving Forward, which currently precedes it in the timeline. But when I eventually revise Part III (that'll be a while yet!), I'm planning major changes to Moving Forward, which will make this story necessary for representing those themes.
That was a lot of preamble. Without additional ado:
Any Road Runs Two Ways
Remus woke early, when the dawn sky was heavy pewter overhead. Only the edges were beginning to turn rose and gold.
Dora lay close beside him, with her cheek pillowed on one arm and her other arm draped loosely around his waist. He couldn’t see her face clearly in the faint grey light, but the slow soft rhythm of her breathing told him she was still asleep.
He had resolved to get out of bed as soon as he woke this morning. Right away-before his inevitable fidgeting woke Dora, too.
But the warm weight of her arm put paid to his good intentions.
Just a few minutes more, he temporised. Only just long enough to let the warmth and the feel of her soak through his pyjama shirt and into his muscles and bones, to settle there as a memory he could cling to later, when the pain began.
He deepened his breathing and fought to keep still under the half-circle of her arm. But his stiffening muscles soon had him shifting restlessly, all the same.
“Remus?” Dora’s arm tightened around him. She lifted her head a little, squinting at him blearily.
Damn. Too late-too careless-too selfish.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” He forced a smile, reaching out a hand to smooth her tousled curls. “I’ll get up now, so you can have a little more sleep. It’s still early.”
Yawning, she pushed herself up on her elbow so that she could peer down into his face. “How are you feeling? You’re all-twitchy. I thought you’d want to sleep late this morning.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed, fighting the burn of a shame that he knew was irrational. Dora had seen him quite soon after the transformation several times by now, after all.
But today was the first she had ever seen him right before.
In any case, she deserved to know what to expect. This was something she would have to face every month, for as long as she still wanted him here.
“There are-phases, I suppose.” It was a struggle to fit words to patterns that he generally tried not to think about. “Some of the time today I’ll be exhausted. But sometimes there’s a sort of nervous energy, and I can’t really rest.”
“Are you in pain?” she asked, softly.
“Not really.” Not yet. “My muscles are a bit stiff, but that’s all.”
“Right,” she said, with an oddly calculating expression. “Then I think I know what to do about nervous energy.”
And then, before he had time to work out what she meant, she slid over to lie right on top of him, bracing her weight on her arms. She leaned down to kiss him, lips and tongue gentle and coaxing.
He gasped into the kiss. Her warmth-her touch-everywhere-
The more she gave him, the more he craved.
So selfish.
“This all right?” Her fingers feathered through his hair and skimmed along his jaw.
“Dora-” He fought for breath, barely managing not to arch against her where her legs tangled with his. “You don’t have to do this. You know this body will be nothing but a slavering monster in a few hours.”
“Not slavering, thank you very much.” Her grin was impish. “You’re on Wolfsbane.”
She reached down to undo the first button on his pyjama shirt. He shuddered at the brush of her fingers along his collarbone.
“Anyway,” she murmured, freeing a second button, “I want to do this.”
Her eyes were very, very dark in the first light of dawn, and her skin was so warm-
He pulled her to him-please, yes, just like that-close, so close, and then closer still. Someone moaned; he wasn’t even sure which of them it was. Everything was sound and scent and taste, and touch, and now, until there was no room left for the moon.
Afterward, he lay heavy and boneless, breathing great gulps of the cool morning air. He felt Dora curl up beside him again, and he looped an arm around her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. She made a happy, sleepy sound and slid her arm back across his stomach. The warmth that spread all through him was the last thing he knew before sleep reclaimed him, after all.
But he woke again to a sky of clearest, palest blue. The sun had begun its climb.
And if the sun was up, the moon was only hours behind.
Dora muttered in her sleep and burrowed into his side, and he shivered. Oh, how he wanted this, having her curled so close that her warmth seeped straight into his heart.
But he was only being selfish, all over again. The moon was his problem. The very least he could do was to keep from making it hers as well.
As quietly as he could with his clumsy, stiffening muscles and aching bones, he slid out of bed, dressed, and crept downstairs. He could feel the beginnings of the bone-deep cold that came to plague him every month, but a hot cup of tea might help stave that off for a time. And downstairs, he needn’t worry about waking anyone if he were to pace and pace until he tired himself out enough to stay still.
~ * ~
The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter-hour. Less than an hour until moonrise.
“I’m just going to take a turn around the pond,” said Remus. “I need to work off a bit of energy.”
Tonks looked up from the notes she was making for the next Order meeting just quickly enough to see the flicker of his swift, uncomfortable smile before he slipped outside.
“Okay,” she replied, pointlessly, to the door he had already closed behind him.
She watched through the wide kitchen window as he crossed the back garden and thudded down the four stone steps to the edge of the pond. His pace was rapid-driven-but his steps were uncharacteristically clumsy, and the old path that circled the water was rough, broken by stones and willow roots. She winced each time he stumbled.
She had never felt so useless in her life.
The day had certainly started well enough. Tonks flushed, grinning a little. She’d wondered if Remus’s lovemaking might be a little rough so close to the moon, but it hadn’t been, not at all. What it had been was intense, as though she were air and water and sunlight and he’d been left alone in the dark for too long.
But when she woke again, afterward, Remus was already up and dressed. His smile had gone all careful, and his gaze slid away from hers in a way that reminded her a bit too much of the year before.
She’d fried up eggs and sausages for breakfast, and chivvied him into making himself two thick roast-beef sandwiches for lunch, and concocted a hearty stew for supper. She’d kept him supplied with hot tea all day long. But mostly she’d watched, as he sat with tight lips and tense shoulders, drawing into himself, or as he paced restlessly around the house and up and down the stairs.
It seemed he needed room to breathe, before the moon.
He must have his routines all worked out, she reminded herself. He’d done this all his life. He must know perfectly well which things he needed.
All the same, she wished that she could be one of those things.
Outside, Remus had finished his circuit of the pond. He stood gazing at the stone steps for a moment before rubbing a hand across his face and hauling himself upward, step by step. The almost frantic energy was completely gone, now.
The clumsiness was not.
He fumbled with the door, closing it noisily behind him, and dropped into the chair next to Tonks at the kitchen table. His face was grey and drawn, and he was shivering even under the thick, knobbly jumper that Molly had knitted for him last Christmas.
“All right?” She slid her hand over his where it rested on the table.
“Well enough.” He breathed a shaky sigh and leaned into her, pressing his shoulder against hers. “Not much longer, now.”
She could feel the shivers that wracked him, and his hand was ice-cold. But at least he hadn’t pulled away.
“You know,” she said, scuffing her thumb across his knuckles, “the sofa’s a bit more comfortable. That’s what sofas are for. Being comfortable.”
“It’s no use.” His voice was already hoarse, even before the transformation. “I just can’t sit still for long, even when I’m this tired. The moon is too close.”
“Let’s try, anyway.” Tonks set her jaw. “I have an idea.” She let go of his hand and stood, waiting for him to haul himself to his feet again before leading the way into the front room and tucking herself into the corner of the sofa.
“Lie down,” she said softly, “go on. Rest your head in my lap.”
He studied her for a moment with eyebrows creased.
She patted the squashy sofa invitingly.
He swallowed once and capitulated, lowering himself stiffly until he was stretched out with his ankles propped on the armrest and his head in her lap.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” She shook out the fancy woven blanket that Mum kept folded over the back of the sofa and tucked it around him. Then she began to run her fingers through his hair, gently but thoroughly, massaging his scalp in case a headache was building.
The shivering slowed a little. He drew a ragged breath, and then another.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s not your job to have to look after me like this.”
Her throat ached. “But what if I want to?”
“I should go, soon.” His eyebrows creased again. “Mustn’t leave it too late.”
“There’s still more than half an hour.” Her fingers worked at tight knots in the muscles at the back of his neck. “Stay until the clock chimes again, at least.”
Another ragged breath. “All right,” he said, and then-very quietly-“thank you.”
His eyes drifted closed, and his laboured breathing steadied. After a few minutes, the tension strung through his frame suddenly eased, and he slumped against her.
Next month, Tonks resolved, we’ll try this a bit earlier.
Just then, of course, the clock on the mantel would have to chime.
“That’s my cue.” Remus kept his eyes closed, but his shoulders had stiffened again.
Twenty-five minutes to moonrise.
He pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and paused, visibly gathering his strength. Tonks popped up and held out her hand, with one eyebrow cocked and a precisely calibrated impish grin. Remus looked at her for a moment, and then gave in to a rueful grin of his own, reaching out and letting her give him a hand up as he lurched to his feet.
Once she had his hand, she kept it, winding her fingers through his as they walked back to the kitchen. In front of the fireplace, he turned to her and smiled, a little, and when she drew him down for a good-bye kiss he responded at once, drinking her in.
Much better.
“Will you Floo back after moonset?” she asked, once they had finally come up for air. “Or were you planning to stay at your old flat for a while and have a sleep first?”
“No, I’ll come back. It’s-better, later on, if I eat a little right away.”
His face had closed in again. Damn that misplaced sense of shame.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” she said, conjuring up another bright smile. “Something hot.”
“No, no,” he said quickly, “please don’t go to any trouble. I normally have a bit of cold bread and cheese-something simple.”
“Sirius always cooked for you, at Grimmauld Place,” she said, and their eyes met across a surge of shared grief. “If he could do it, so can I.”
She brushed the fringe out of his face, and he gave a little shiver.
“Thank you. I-” His gaze dropped, but he stopped, and swallowed, and forced himself to look at her again. “I won’t be the most scintillating of company tomorrow morning, I’m afraid.” He managed a small, wry smile. “And I’ll need a few minutes to pull myself together before I can Floo. But I will come back soon after moonset. Breakfast would be-lovely.”
She kissed him again, and watched him toss the Floo Powder into the grate and spin away through the green flames.
Twenty minutes to moonrise.
And, perhaps more to the point now, eleven hours and fourteen minutes to moonset.
~ * ~
Remus jerked awake from his fitful sleep. The sudden pain forced a full-throated howl from him, a howl that became a scream midway through, after bones cracked and muscles tore and tendons stretched and he was human again.
It’s over. He huddled in a twisted heap on the shabby rug in his basement flat, snatching quick shallow breaths as each wave of pain receded, checking for broken bones out of sheer habit even though the Weasley twins’ Wolfsbane potion had worked brilliantly and he’d kept his own mind all night. It’s over-it’s over-it’s over.
For another twenty-nine days, at any rate.
He waited for the last stabbing pains and violent twitches to fade into sharp aches and persistent shivers. Then he pushed himself laboriously up on one arm, and the other, until after a couple of failed attempts he was sitting upright on the rug, propped against the side of the bed.
The shivers intensified, and his teeth began to chatter from the cold, before he managed to struggle into his pyjamas and his bathrobe and the thickest, least shabby socks he owned. He retrieved his wand from the pocket of his bathrobe and cast a very weak Warming Charm. But of course even just that tiny bit of magic burned up what little strength he had scraped together. And absolutely everything ached, down to his blasted eyeballs. So he sagged against the bedframe and let his eyes close again, waiting until he thought he’d be able to stand.
Waiting, he floated in memories of Dora, of her touch. Her arm draped across him when he woke. The brush of her lips against his. Her fingers in his hair last night, so gentle, so soothing.
When he was young, there had always been touch after moons-his parents, or Madam Pomfrey, or a stag and a dog curled around him. Warm, steady touch, reminding him that someone cared, that he was human enough once the moon had set. And for three of the last four years he had been quite lucky again; at Hogwarts, or at Grimmauld Place, or even with Greyback’s pack, someone had generally been around to lend a hand or share a brief touch.
But in between, there had been a long time. Twelve years of moons that meant struggling doggedly back to consciousness only to find himself injured, freezing cold, desperately hungry-and absolutely, unequivocally, alone.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Over-that’s all over-
At least for now.
For now, he had Dora, to make him breakfast. Or-maybe-
He shivered, and wanted. Not lovemaking; he wouldn’t be strong enough for that for a day or more. But-everything else. Her fingers in his hair, her lips against his jaw, her hands on his back where the knotted muscles ached. Her warmth curled around him under the duvet. The utter euphoria of sliding into sleep surrounded by the tangible manifestation of her stubborn, ill-advised, miraculous love for him-
Stop that.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, cursing his bloody weakness after moons, when thoughts that had no place in the light of day refused to stay buried.
Having Dora cook him breakfast was enough, more than enough, because it meant he wasn’t alone. And she would kiss him, or smooth his hair, or brush her fingers along his cheek, the way she always did. It would be touch, warm and caring. It would be lovely.
It wouldn’t be too terribly much of a burden for her.
It would be safer for him in the long run.
It would be enough.
~ * ~
Tonks sat, bleary-eyed, at the table in her parents’ kitchen. The sky and the pond were still dim and misty, and only one bird had begun to sing.
At least the bloated, leering moon had finally set.
Her hands were wrapped around a hot cup of strong tea, and last night’s Evening Prophet was spread out on the table in front of her, but the knot in her stomach was enough to keep her awake all on its own.
Which was just as well. The tea was nice, of course-her mother’s favourite Darjeeling. But the Prophet was even further given over to rubbish than it had been before You-Know-Who took over the Ministry. She usually made a point of combing through the nonsense for any crumbs of real news they might have let slip in. This morning, though, she couldn’t concentrate.
She kept finding that she was staring at the fireplace.
Yesterday had been difficult. Would today be worse?
Would she know what to do to make things better?
Would Remus bloody well let her help him?
The bird trilled again, outside. And then the fire went green.
Remus stumbled, stepping out of the Floo, but he caught hold of the edge of the fireplace and managed to stay on his feet. When he saw her, his gaunt face lit in a brilliant smile.
Her heart soared. “Wotcher!”
But then his thoughts must have caught up with him, because the smile faded, and that familiar line of worry creased his brow.
She held onto her own smile and tried not to sigh.
“Dora,” he said. The rasp in his voice made her throat burn in sympathy. “Oh, Merlin, I wasn’t thinking. You look so tired-I never should have asked you to make me breakfast. You need your rest.”
The sigh prevailed.
“I’m fine,” she said, firmly. “Went to bed early last night.”
She hadn’t slept much, not with the moon flooding the sky with its baleful light, but he didn’t need to know that part.
Tonks waved her wand, floating tea things and a bowl of hot porridge over to the table. “Come sit, and have some breakfast.” The porridge was loaded with walnuts and sultanas, butter and cream-as rich as she could make it.
He limped across the kitchen to take his seat at the table. But instead of picking up his spoon, he searched her face, worry etched starkly on his own. “Please don’t go to all this trouble next month.” He touched her hand with the tips of his fingers, feather-light. “I’ve taken care of myself after moons for years, and now that I’m on Wolfsbane, there certainly won’t be any injuries I can’t handle on my own.”
“We can work that out later,” she said, although she had every intention of getting up, every month. “Go on-eat your porridge before you fall over.” She poked him, very gently, on the shoulder.
There was that brow-crease again, but then he gave her another smile, sheepish this time. “Thank you for making breakfast for me.”
She watched him eat, pleased at the speed with which he attacked the porridge. He even let her fill his bowl again. But by the time he had finished the second helping, his eyelids were drooping.
“Will that keep you for a while?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Looks like you could use some sleep.”
“Mmm,” he said. He blinked and shook himself a little, and the sheepish smile was back. “I suppose I could.” He hesitated. “I’ll probably sleep for most of the day, I’m afraid.”
“No worries.” Tonks leaned in for a quick, sweet kiss. “Just sleep. And let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Remus glanced down at her hand on his arm, and back up, and for a heartbeat there was something in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.
But before she could so much as blink, it had vanished.
“Sleep is what I need most right now.” He heaved himself out of his chair, wearing a careful smile that was oddly incongruous on his gaunt face. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
From the tight, skewed set of his shoulders, she could only imagine the knots that must be twisting his back.
She sat and listened to his painfully slow tread on the stairs. But when she heard the bathroom door close, she set her jaw and made her own way upstairs. Remus hadn’t asked her to follow him, but his muscles looked so stiff. She didn’t know how he would ever be able to fall asleep in that state.
And there had been something in his eyes, no matter how fleeting.
Tonks found the bed badly rumpled from her own restless sleep, so she shook out the covers and turned them down. Then she perched at the foot of the bed and waited.
Remus came in, drying his face on a towel. His slow steps faltered when he saw her. “Dora? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, brightly. “You look a little stiff, so I thought it might be nice if I rubbed your back a bit before you went to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” he said, quietly, fumbling with his bathrobe until he’d wrangled it off. “I just need to sleep for a while.”
Damn. He was still shutting her out, even after yesterday morning, after last night on the sofa-
“Dora?” The mattress dipped.
She looked up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, grey-faced, trying to read her.
“Please don’t think I’m not grateful that you’re concerned about me.” He coughed a little. It didn’t ease the rasp in his voice. “But I can manage on my own. Really.”
Anger sparked. She didn’t mean to let it, not when he was this exhausted, and she looked away quickly.
But he had seen.
“This really matters to you,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t realise-”
She took a deep breath. “Go to sleep. We can talk about it later.”
He lay down, sliding under the covers, but his eyes never left her face. She cast a quick Warming Charm on the duvet and made to leave, standing up and bending to kiss him on the forehead.
He reached out and caught her hand. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does it matter so much?”
Tonks sat back down on the edge of the bed, his fingers still tangled in hers. “You’re bloody joking.”
But he wasn’t. He searched her face again, bewilderment joining the exhaustion and pain in his eyes.
“You’re hurting, and I hate it,” she said, wearily. “There might be something I could do to help. To make it a little better. But you won’t even let me try.”
“Don’t you see?” His fingers tightened around hers. “This is going to happen every month, Dora. For the rest of my life. This is what I am.” His smile was bitter. “The last thing I want is to be any more of a burden on you than I have to be. Because-” His eyes closed, and he swallowed. “Someday, it might just be too much.”
She gaped at him, stung. And-furious.
“I meant what I said the other day,” she said, tightly. “I want to be married to you, and I want you here with me, more than I can say. But it isn’t going to work between us without trust.”
His eyes flew open, and she could see shadows there that weren’t from the transformation. “I swear, Dora. I’ll promise as many times as you need to hear it. I was a fool, and I’ll never leave you and the baby again.”
“Not that.” She sighed, shaking her head, anger starting to fade in the face of his desperate intensity. “I meant, you have to trust me, too.”
“I do.” Now his fingers clung to hers. “With my life.”
“Then trust me with your pain,” she whispered. “Trust me to love you enough that working out ways to make moons a little better will never be a burden.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” He closed his eyes. “But-moons are hard. That’s-” He stopped, and tried again. “My lycanthropy is the reason my mother died so young. It simply wore her out.”
“Oh, Remus.” The last remnants of her anger vanished completely.
She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his fingers.
“From what you’ve told me about your parents, it sounds like they wore themselves out trying to chase impossible cures, or trying to turn back the clock. Trying to make you something different from what you are.” She held his hand between both of hers. “All I’m going to do is make sure you have Wolfsbane every month, and something nice to eat, and somewhere to keep warm. And I can rub your back, or even just hold you, if that helps. But none of that is going to wear me out.”
She touched his cheek. His breath caught, and he turned his face into her palm.
“Go on,” she said, giving his shoulder a little nudge. “Roll over. Let me see about that back.”
Remus blinked once, slowly. He drew a deep breath, and blinked again, but then he turned stiffly over onto his stomach.
Tonks rested her hands on his shoulderblades for a moment, feeling the whisper-softness of his threadbare pyjamas. She brushed light circles over his back, searching gently for where the knots and tight places lurked.
He sighed, shivering a little.
Then she flexed her fingers, gritted her teeth, and dug in with her thumbs along the sides of his spine.
Remus gasped, harsh and raw. The muscles of his back spasmed almost violently.
She froze, her hands light and flat along his back again. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you-Poppy Pomfrey had said this might help-”
“Don’t stop,” he rasped. “Please. That helps so much-”
“Oh,” she said, around a sudden lump in her throat. “Good.”
She worked on, down his back, across his shoulders, along each arm and leg. By the time she had finished, his breaths were slow and even and his eyes were closed. She rested her hands on his shoulders one last time and leaned up to brush a kiss across his temple.
“Dora.” His eyes opened. This time, he made no attempt to hide the longing that burned there.
Tonks swallowed, hard, and combed her fingers lightly through his hair. “Shh, now. Go to sleep.”
“Will you stay?” he whispered. “Just for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
For the first time since the whole mess at the Ministry had started, Tonks was actually glad that she had no job to go to anymore.
She skirted the foot of the bed and climbed in on her own side. Remus rolled over, with his back to her, and she curled carefully around him. He melted against her, with a shaky sigh. She draped an arm around his waist, and he caught her hand again, lacing their fingers together.
“This,” he mumbled, nearly asleep already. “This is what I wanted.”
She held him very close, burying her brilliant grin in the hollow between his shoulderblades.
~ * ~
[ Kaleidoscope series index ]
.
This story needs a few notes, too, I'm afraid. It's not 100% new, because it incorporates a drabble and a ficlet which weren't originally going to be part of the series (until I realized, recently, that this point in time really does need to be included): Restless and Taking Care. But there are also two completely new scenes, and the older pieces underwent a fair amount of revision in order to knit this all together into one coherent (*cough*) hurt/comfort story. (The two new scenes are long enough to qualify this post for my h/c bingo card -- for "unwanted transformation," which I suppose is a bit of a freebie in the R/T fandom, heh.)
One more note: people who have been following all of Kaleidoscope might notice that there's a good bit of thematic overlap between this story and Moving Forward, which currently precedes it in the timeline. But when I eventually revise Part III (that'll be a while yet!), I'm planning major changes to Moving Forward, which will make this story necessary for representing those themes.
That was a lot of preamble. Without additional ado:
- Any Road Runs Two Ways (4610 words | PG-13/mild profanity, intimate situations)
- Remus would do anything to keep the full moon from being a burden on Tonks. But there is such a thing as going too far.
Any Road Runs Two Ways
Remus woke early, when the dawn sky was heavy pewter overhead. Only the edges were beginning to turn rose and gold.
Dora lay close beside him, with her cheek pillowed on one arm and her other arm draped loosely around his waist. He couldn’t see her face clearly in the faint grey light, but the slow soft rhythm of her breathing told him she was still asleep.
He had resolved to get out of bed as soon as he woke this morning. Right away-before his inevitable fidgeting woke Dora, too.
But the warm weight of her arm put paid to his good intentions.
Just a few minutes more, he temporised. Only just long enough to let the warmth and the feel of her soak through his pyjama shirt and into his muscles and bones, to settle there as a memory he could cling to later, when the pain began.
He deepened his breathing and fought to keep still under the half-circle of her arm. But his stiffening muscles soon had him shifting restlessly, all the same.
“Remus?” Dora’s arm tightened around him. She lifted her head a little, squinting at him blearily.
Damn. Too late-too careless-too selfish.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” He forced a smile, reaching out a hand to smooth her tousled curls. “I’ll get up now, so you can have a little more sleep. It’s still early.”
Yawning, she pushed herself up on her elbow so that she could peer down into his face. “How are you feeling? You’re all-twitchy. I thought you’d want to sleep late this morning.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed, fighting the burn of a shame that he knew was irrational. Dora had seen him quite soon after the transformation several times by now, after all.
But today was the first she had ever seen him right before.
In any case, she deserved to know what to expect. This was something she would have to face every month, for as long as she still wanted him here.
“There are-phases, I suppose.” It was a struggle to fit words to patterns that he generally tried not to think about. “Some of the time today I’ll be exhausted. But sometimes there’s a sort of nervous energy, and I can’t really rest.”
“Are you in pain?” she asked, softly.
“Not really.” Not yet. “My muscles are a bit stiff, but that’s all.”
“Right,” she said, with an oddly calculating expression. “Then I think I know what to do about nervous energy.”
And then, before he had time to work out what she meant, she slid over to lie right on top of him, bracing her weight on her arms. She leaned down to kiss him, lips and tongue gentle and coaxing.
He gasped into the kiss. Her warmth-her touch-everywhere-
The more she gave him, the more he craved.
So selfish.
“This all right?” Her fingers feathered through his hair and skimmed along his jaw.
“Dora-” He fought for breath, barely managing not to arch against her where her legs tangled with his. “You don’t have to do this. You know this body will be nothing but a slavering monster in a few hours.”
“Not slavering, thank you very much.” Her grin was impish. “You’re on Wolfsbane.”
She reached down to undo the first button on his pyjama shirt. He shuddered at the brush of her fingers along his collarbone.
“Anyway,” she murmured, freeing a second button, “I want to do this.”
Her eyes were very, very dark in the first light of dawn, and her skin was so warm-
He pulled her to him-please, yes, just like that-close, so close, and then closer still. Someone moaned; he wasn’t even sure which of them it was. Everything was sound and scent and taste, and touch, and now, until there was no room left for the moon.
Afterward, he lay heavy and boneless, breathing great gulps of the cool morning air. He felt Dora curl up beside him again, and he looped an arm around her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. She made a happy, sleepy sound and slid her arm back across his stomach. The warmth that spread all through him was the last thing he knew before sleep reclaimed him, after all.
But he woke again to a sky of clearest, palest blue. The sun had begun its climb.
And if the sun was up, the moon was only hours behind.
Dora muttered in her sleep and burrowed into his side, and he shivered. Oh, how he wanted this, having her curled so close that her warmth seeped straight into his heart.
But he was only being selfish, all over again. The moon was his problem. The very least he could do was to keep from making it hers as well.
As quietly as he could with his clumsy, stiffening muscles and aching bones, he slid out of bed, dressed, and crept downstairs. He could feel the beginnings of the bone-deep cold that came to plague him every month, but a hot cup of tea might help stave that off for a time. And downstairs, he needn’t worry about waking anyone if he were to pace and pace until he tired himself out enough to stay still.
~ * ~
The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter-hour. Less than an hour until moonrise.
“I’m just going to take a turn around the pond,” said Remus. “I need to work off a bit of energy.”
Tonks looked up from the notes she was making for the next Order meeting just quickly enough to see the flicker of his swift, uncomfortable smile before he slipped outside.
“Okay,” she replied, pointlessly, to the door he had already closed behind him.
She watched through the wide kitchen window as he crossed the back garden and thudded down the four stone steps to the edge of the pond. His pace was rapid-driven-but his steps were uncharacteristically clumsy, and the old path that circled the water was rough, broken by stones and willow roots. She winced each time he stumbled.
She had never felt so useless in her life.
The day had certainly started well enough. Tonks flushed, grinning a little. She’d wondered if Remus’s lovemaking might be a little rough so close to the moon, but it hadn’t been, not at all. What it had been was intense, as though she were air and water and sunlight and he’d been left alone in the dark for too long.
But when she woke again, afterward, Remus was already up and dressed. His smile had gone all careful, and his gaze slid away from hers in a way that reminded her a bit too much of the year before.
She’d fried up eggs and sausages for breakfast, and chivvied him into making himself two thick roast-beef sandwiches for lunch, and concocted a hearty stew for supper. She’d kept him supplied with hot tea all day long. But mostly she’d watched, as he sat with tight lips and tense shoulders, drawing into himself, or as he paced restlessly around the house and up and down the stairs.
It seemed he needed room to breathe, before the moon.
He must have his routines all worked out, she reminded herself. He’d done this all his life. He must know perfectly well which things he needed.
All the same, she wished that she could be one of those things.
Outside, Remus had finished his circuit of the pond. He stood gazing at the stone steps for a moment before rubbing a hand across his face and hauling himself upward, step by step. The almost frantic energy was completely gone, now.
The clumsiness was not.
He fumbled with the door, closing it noisily behind him, and dropped into the chair next to Tonks at the kitchen table. His face was grey and drawn, and he was shivering even under the thick, knobbly jumper that Molly had knitted for him last Christmas.
“All right?” She slid her hand over his where it rested on the table.
“Well enough.” He breathed a shaky sigh and leaned into her, pressing his shoulder against hers. “Not much longer, now.”
She could feel the shivers that wracked him, and his hand was ice-cold. But at least he hadn’t pulled away.
“You know,” she said, scuffing her thumb across his knuckles, “the sofa’s a bit more comfortable. That’s what sofas are for. Being comfortable.”
“It’s no use.” His voice was already hoarse, even before the transformation. “I just can’t sit still for long, even when I’m this tired. The moon is too close.”
“Let’s try, anyway.” Tonks set her jaw. “I have an idea.” She let go of his hand and stood, waiting for him to haul himself to his feet again before leading the way into the front room and tucking herself into the corner of the sofa.
“Lie down,” she said softly, “go on. Rest your head in my lap.”
He studied her for a moment with eyebrows creased.
She patted the squashy sofa invitingly.
He swallowed once and capitulated, lowering himself stiffly until he was stretched out with his ankles propped on the armrest and his head in her lap.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” She shook out the fancy woven blanket that Mum kept folded over the back of the sofa and tucked it around him. Then she began to run her fingers through his hair, gently but thoroughly, massaging his scalp in case a headache was building.
The shivering slowed a little. He drew a ragged breath, and then another.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “It’s not your job to have to look after me like this.”
Her throat ached. “But what if I want to?”
“I should go, soon.” His eyebrows creased again. “Mustn’t leave it too late.”
“There’s still more than half an hour.” Her fingers worked at tight knots in the muscles at the back of his neck. “Stay until the clock chimes again, at least.”
Another ragged breath. “All right,” he said, and then-very quietly-“thank you.”
His eyes drifted closed, and his laboured breathing steadied. After a few minutes, the tension strung through his frame suddenly eased, and he slumped against her.
Next month, Tonks resolved, we’ll try this a bit earlier.
Just then, of course, the clock on the mantel would have to chime.
“That’s my cue.” Remus kept his eyes closed, but his shoulders had stiffened again.
Twenty-five minutes to moonrise.
He pushed himself up until he was sitting on the edge of the sofa and paused, visibly gathering his strength. Tonks popped up and held out her hand, with one eyebrow cocked and a precisely calibrated impish grin. Remus looked at her for a moment, and then gave in to a rueful grin of his own, reaching out and letting her give him a hand up as he lurched to his feet.
Once she had his hand, she kept it, winding her fingers through his as they walked back to the kitchen. In front of the fireplace, he turned to her and smiled, a little, and when she drew him down for a good-bye kiss he responded at once, drinking her in.
Much better.
“Will you Floo back after moonset?” she asked, once they had finally come up for air. “Or were you planning to stay at your old flat for a while and have a sleep first?”
“No, I’ll come back. It’s-better, later on, if I eat a little right away.”
His face had closed in again. Damn that misplaced sense of shame.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” she said, conjuring up another bright smile. “Something hot.”
“No, no,” he said quickly, “please don’t go to any trouble. I normally have a bit of cold bread and cheese-something simple.”
“Sirius always cooked for you, at Grimmauld Place,” she said, and their eyes met across a surge of shared grief. “If he could do it, so can I.”
She brushed the fringe out of his face, and he gave a little shiver.
“Thank you. I-” His gaze dropped, but he stopped, and swallowed, and forced himself to look at her again. “I won’t be the most scintillating of company tomorrow morning, I’m afraid.” He managed a small, wry smile. “And I’ll need a few minutes to pull myself together before I can Floo. But I will come back soon after moonset. Breakfast would be-lovely.”
She kissed him again, and watched him toss the Floo Powder into the grate and spin away through the green flames.
Twenty minutes to moonrise.
And, perhaps more to the point now, eleven hours and fourteen minutes to moonset.
~ * ~
Remus jerked awake from his fitful sleep. The sudden pain forced a full-throated howl from him, a howl that became a scream midway through, after bones cracked and muscles tore and tendons stretched and he was human again.
It’s over. He huddled in a twisted heap on the shabby rug in his basement flat, snatching quick shallow breaths as each wave of pain receded, checking for broken bones out of sheer habit even though the Weasley twins’ Wolfsbane potion had worked brilliantly and he’d kept his own mind all night. It’s over-it’s over-it’s over.
For another twenty-nine days, at any rate.
He waited for the last stabbing pains and violent twitches to fade into sharp aches and persistent shivers. Then he pushed himself laboriously up on one arm, and the other, until after a couple of failed attempts he was sitting upright on the rug, propped against the side of the bed.
The shivers intensified, and his teeth began to chatter from the cold, before he managed to struggle into his pyjamas and his bathrobe and the thickest, least shabby socks he owned. He retrieved his wand from the pocket of his bathrobe and cast a very weak Warming Charm. But of course even just that tiny bit of magic burned up what little strength he had scraped together. And absolutely everything ached, down to his blasted eyeballs. So he sagged against the bedframe and let his eyes close again, waiting until he thought he’d be able to stand.
Waiting, he floated in memories of Dora, of her touch. Her arm draped across him when he woke. The brush of her lips against his. Her fingers in his hair last night, so gentle, so soothing.
When he was young, there had always been touch after moons-his parents, or Madam Pomfrey, or a stag and a dog curled around him. Warm, steady touch, reminding him that someone cared, that he was human enough once the moon had set. And for three of the last four years he had been quite lucky again; at Hogwarts, or at Grimmauld Place, or even with Greyback’s pack, someone had generally been around to lend a hand or share a brief touch.
But in between, there had been a long time. Twelve years of moons that meant struggling doggedly back to consciousness only to find himself injured, freezing cold, desperately hungry-and absolutely, unequivocally, alone.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Over-that’s all over-
At least for now.
For now, he had Dora, to make him breakfast. Or-maybe-
He shivered, and wanted. Not lovemaking; he wouldn’t be strong enough for that for a day or more. But-everything else. Her fingers in his hair, her lips against his jaw, her hands on his back where the knotted muscles ached. Her warmth curled around him under the duvet. The utter euphoria of sliding into sleep surrounded by the tangible manifestation of her stubborn, ill-advised, miraculous love for him-
Stop that.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, cursing his bloody weakness after moons, when thoughts that had no place in the light of day refused to stay buried.
Having Dora cook him breakfast was enough, more than enough, because it meant he wasn’t alone. And she would kiss him, or smooth his hair, or brush her fingers along his cheek, the way she always did. It would be touch, warm and caring. It would be lovely.
It wouldn’t be too terribly much of a burden for her.
It would be safer for him in the long run.
It would be enough.
~ * ~
Tonks sat, bleary-eyed, at the table in her parents’ kitchen. The sky and the pond were still dim and misty, and only one bird had begun to sing.
At least the bloated, leering moon had finally set.
Her hands were wrapped around a hot cup of strong tea, and last night’s Evening Prophet was spread out on the table in front of her, but the knot in her stomach was enough to keep her awake all on its own.
Which was just as well. The tea was nice, of course-her mother’s favourite Darjeeling. But the Prophet was even further given over to rubbish than it had been before You-Know-Who took over the Ministry. She usually made a point of combing through the nonsense for any crumbs of real news they might have let slip in. This morning, though, she couldn’t concentrate.
She kept finding that she was staring at the fireplace.
Yesterday had been difficult. Would today be worse?
Would she know what to do to make things better?
Would Remus bloody well let her help him?
The bird trilled again, outside. And then the fire went green.
Remus stumbled, stepping out of the Floo, but he caught hold of the edge of the fireplace and managed to stay on his feet. When he saw her, his gaunt face lit in a brilliant smile.
Her heart soared. “Wotcher!”
But then his thoughts must have caught up with him, because the smile faded, and that familiar line of worry creased his brow.
She held onto her own smile and tried not to sigh.
“Dora,” he said. The rasp in his voice made her throat burn in sympathy. “Oh, Merlin, I wasn’t thinking. You look so tired-I never should have asked you to make me breakfast. You need your rest.”
The sigh prevailed.
“I’m fine,” she said, firmly. “Went to bed early last night.”
She hadn’t slept much, not with the moon flooding the sky with its baleful light, but he didn’t need to know that part.
Tonks waved her wand, floating tea things and a bowl of hot porridge over to the table. “Come sit, and have some breakfast.” The porridge was loaded with walnuts and sultanas, butter and cream-as rich as she could make it.
He limped across the kitchen to take his seat at the table. But instead of picking up his spoon, he searched her face, worry etched starkly on his own. “Please don’t go to all this trouble next month.” He touched her hand with the tips of his fingers, feather-light. “I’ve taken care of myself after moons for years, and now that I’m on Wolfsbane, there certainly won’t be any injuries I can’t handle on my own.”
“We can work that out later,” she said, although she had every intention of getting up, every month. “Go on-eat your porridge before you fall over.” She poked him, very gently, on the shoulder.
There was that brow-crease again, but then he gave her another smile, sheepish this time. “Thank you for making breakfast for me.”
She watched him eat, pleased at the speed with which he attacked the porridge. He even let her fill his bowl again. But by the time he had finished the second helping, his eyelids were drooping.
“Will that keep you for a while?” She laid her hand on his arm. “Looks like you could use some sleep.”
“Mmm,” he said. He blinked and shook himself a little, and the sheepish smile was back. “I suppose I could.” He hesitated. “I’ll probably sleep for most of the day, I’m afraid.”
“No worries.” Tonks leaned in for a quick, sweet kiss. “Just sleep. And let me know if there’s anything you need.”
Remus glanced down at her hand on his arm, and back up, and for a heartbeat there was something in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.
But before she could so much as blink, it had vanished.
“Sleep is what I need most right now.” He heaved himself out of his chair, wearing a careful smile that was oddly incongruous on his gaunt face. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
From the tight, skewed set of his shoulders, she could only imagine the knots that must be twisting his back.
She sat and listened to his painfully slow tread on the stairs. But when she heard the bathroom door close, she set her jaw and made her own way upstairs. Remus hadn’t asked her to follow him, but his muscles looked so stiff. She didn’t know how he would ever be able to fall asleep in that state.
And there had been something in his eyes, no matter how fleeting.
Tonks found the bed badly rumpled from her own restless sleep, so she shook out the covers and turned them down. Then she perched at the foot of the bed and waited.
Remus came in, drying his face on a towel. His slow steps faltered when he saw her. “Dora? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, brightly. “You look a little stiff, so I thought it might be nice if I rubbed your back a bit before you went to sleep.”
“I’m fine,” he said, quietly, fumbling with his bathrobe until he’d wrangled it off. “I just need to sleep for a while.”
Damn. He was still shutting her out, even after yesterday morning, after last night on the sofa-
“Dora?” The mattress dipped.
She looked up to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, grey-faced, trying to read her.
“Please don’t think I’m not grateful that you’re concerned about me.” He coughed a little. It didn’t ease the rasp in his voice. “But I can manage on my own. Really.”
Anger sparked. She didn’t mean to let it, not when he was this exhausted, and she looked away quickly.
But he had seen.
“This really matters to you,” he said, slowly. “I didn’t realise-”
She took a deep breath. “Go to sleep. We can talk about it later.”
He lay down, sliding under the covers, but his eyes never left her face. She cast a quick Warming Charm on the duvet and made to leave, standing up and bending to kiss him on the forehead.
He reached out and caught her hand. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does it matter so much?”
Tonks sat back down on the edge of the bed, his fingers still tangled in hers. “You’re bloody joking.”
But he wasn’t. He searched her face again, bewilderment joining the exhaustion and pain in his eyes.
“You’re hurting, and I hate it,” she said, wearily. “There might be something I could do to help. To make it a little better. But you won’t even let me try.”
“Don’t you see?” His fingers tightened around hers. “This is going to happen every month, Dora. For the rest of my life. This is what I am.” His smile was bitter. “The last thing I want is to be any more of a burden on you than I have to be. Because-” His eyes closed, and he swallowed. “Someday, it might just be too much.”
She gaped at him, stung. And-furious.
“I meant what I said the other day,” she said, tightly. “I want to be married to you, and I want you here with me, more than I can say. But it isn’t going to work between us without trust.”
His eyes flew open, and she could see shadows there that weren’t from the transformation. “I swear, Dora. I’ll promise as many times as you need to hear it. I was a fool, and I’ll never leave you and the baby again.”
“Not that.” She sighed, shaking her head, anger starting to fade in the face of his desperate intensity. “I meant, you have to trust me, too.”
“I do.” Now his fingers clung to hers. “With my life.”
“Then trust me with your pain,” she whispered. “Trust me to love you enough that working out ways to make moons a little better will never be a burden.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” He closed his eyes. “But-moons are hard. That’s-” He stopped, and tried again. “My lycanthropy is the reason my mother died so young. It simply wore her out.”
“Oh, Remus.” The last remnants of her anger vanished completely.
She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his fingers.
“From what you’ve told me about your parents, it sounds like they wore themselves out trying to chase impossible cures, or trying to turn back the clock. Trying to make you something different from what you are.” She held his hand between both of hers. “All I’m going to do is make sure you have Wolfsbane every month, and something nice to eat, and somewhere to keep warm. And I can rub your back, or even just hold you, if that helps. But none of that is going to wear me out.”
She touched his cheek. His breath caught, and he turned his face into her palm.
“Go on,” she said, giving his shoulder a little nudge. “Roll over. Let me see about that back.”
Remus blinked once, slowly. He drew a deep breath, and blinked again, but then he turned stiffly over onto his stomach.
Tonks rested her hands on his shoulderblades for a moment, feeling the whisper-softness of his threadbare pyjamas. She brushed light circles over his back, searching gently for where the knots and tight places lurked.
He sighed, shivering a little.
Then she flexed her fingers, gritted her teeth, and dug in with her thumbs along the sides of his spine.
Remus gasped, harsh and raw. The muscles of his back spasmed almost violently.
She froze, her hands light and flat along his back again. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you-Poppy Pomfrey had said this might help-”
“Don’t stop,” he rasped. “Please. That helps so much-”
“Oh,” she said, around a sudden lump in her throat. “Good.”
She worked on, down his back, across his shoulders, along each arm and leg. By the time she had finished, his breaths were slow and even and his eyes were closed. She rested her hands on his shoulders one last time and leaned up to brush a kiss across his temple.
“Dora.” His eyes opened. This time, he made no attempt to hide the longing that burned there.
Tonks swallowed, hard, and combed her fingers lightly through his hair. “Shh, now. Go to sleep.”
“Will you stay?” he whispered. “Just for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
For the first time since the whole mess at the Ministry had started, Tonks was actually glad that she had no job to go to anymore.
She skirted the foot of the bed and climbed in on her own side. Remus rolled over, with his back to her, and she curled carefully around him. He melted against her, with a shaky sigh. She draped an arm around his waist, and he caught her hand again, lacing their fingers together.
“This,” he mumbled, nearly asleep already. “This is what I wanted.”
She held him very close, burying her brilliant grin in the hollow between his shoulderblades.
~ * ~
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