Fic: Stuck in the Past
“Oh, I’m denying it, am I?” Tonks snapped in return, her eyes blazing. “I’m the one out every bloody night patrolling Diagon Alley with Mad Eye, and you’re sitting in here sipping at wine as though it’s going to get you wasted enough to block out the feelings. Tell me, Remus,” she said, her voice becoming icier, “how is that helping the situation?”
“Like you say, wine isn’t going to render me incapacitated - or, as you so politely put it, wasted - so, really Dora, what’s the harm?” It was almost a battle of silent wits as Remus and Tonks stared at each, with expressions that weren’t quite made of disgust, but certainly weren’t made of affection. Remus took yet another sip of the wine, its bitter taste burnt his throat almost as much as her livid glare, and promptly began to dab at his shirt. The wine had soaked through the threadbare fabric, leaving a deep crimson stain on the breast pocket.
“It’s not healthy.”
She leaned across the table, her eyes once again locked upon his in an attempt to implore Remus to listen to her. He flinched slightly as she caressed his hand, the stumps of her fingernails scraping gently along his taut skin, but said nothing. He didn’t need to; Tonks could see every emotion he willingly possessed, and even more that he didn’t, they were reflected in his steady gaze. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cool summers breeze ran up her spine, but she ignored, collecting herself and looking Remus straight in the eye.
“I know it’s not healthy, but Sirius was a chain smoker and an alcoholic and he still seemed pretty damn happy.
She felt his skin, calloused and yet somewhat smooth against her hand, and she looked down to see Remus’ own fingers turning purple - she’d been clasping them harder than she thought. Tonks pulled away with a nervous titter,
“Happy?” Tonks had always been the inquisitive one in this friendship (if she could call it that), much more so than Remus - he only questioned books and emotions, and he wasn’t even very talented at that - and yet the resignation in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She watched in despair as he sipped at yet another glass of wine, this one a sparkling purple that bubbled incessantly, before opening her mouth again. “He was a bloomin’ man with demons Remus, he’d been locked in that hell hole for twelve years, and you have the nerve to call him happy.”
“Well he certainly wasn’t dead, was he?”
“Oh, Re- give me that!” With fumbling fingers, Tonks wrenched the wine glass from his poised hand. It fell to the ground with a crash, causing a cascade of what resembled fireworks. “You’re bloody useless, I tell you.” She brushed against him as she leaned over to vanish the wine from the carpet, and felt her heart do that familiar flutter. They’d known each other what, a year - no, eighteen months now - and Tonks still could not help but feel her heart jump every time she touched him. Her blush marred her words a little bit, and they weren’t quite as venomous as she’d originally hoped, but Remus could still feel them twisting a knife into his side.
“What?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows and imploring Tonks to explain further. With a weary sigh, he then rested his head on his cupped hands, staring intently at her, and for the first time, Tonks could see the wolf in his face. She wasn’t sure if it was his mingled expression of tiredness and emotional pain or just the way the scars were etched into his face like artwork, but he suddenly seemed so vulnerable and so… so old.
It was almost as though he’d gone through a faulty metamorphosis, advancing his body into the future, creasing and crinkling and graying it, and leaving his mind in the past.
“You’re stuck in the past Remus, that’s what,” Tonks said finally, taking a sip of wine from the glass she had tugged from his fingers. “You’re stuck with this image of what Sirius was like twenty years ago, and he was never going to be that man again.”
“So it’s all my fault,” Remus replied. His slightly shocked expression made it obvious that he hadn’t intended to fight back - he could be so bloody lacklustre at times. “It’s my fault that I was best friends with the man he was.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault, Remus. You just need to stop deluding yourself.”
Tonks leaned over him, downing yet another mouthful of the wine as she spoke. It was much too sweet for her and she shuddered, wondering why on earth Remus would willingly drink such a thing.
“Remus, you’re definitely stuck in the past. You live in a world where you shut your eyes and everything will be hunky dory and you’ll be chasing Lily around with Sirius and James again, but the world isn’t really like that.”
“Well if I’m stuck in the past, then you’re trapped in a future which we can’t have.” Sirius had spent hours telling Tonks stories, holding a smouldering cigar in one hand and a glass of Firewhiskey in the other; they mostly revolved around Remus’ escapades as a Marauder - it was almost impossible to believe that the man in front of her, who wore his stretched, marred skin like a too large coat, could have spirit, and yet, he did. She’d often perceived him as the quiet, almost standoffish type, and it was refreshing to know that he too could fight back.
“We?”
“Don’t deny this either, Tonks. It’s bad enough that you’re pretending Sirius isn’t gone, that he’s up in Buckbeak’s room or on guard duty. Don’t pretend you don’t at least appreciate me being around.”
“I do… but it’s not like dreaming of us having a future together or anything.”
Searching for something, anything to keep Remus’ attention off her, Tonks pointed feebly at the wine bottle, sending the cork flying across the room with a single flick of her wand; it skidded past Remus’ head and collided with the opposite wall.
“Want a glass?” she asked, her reddening cheek pointed in Remus’ direction.
“Wouldn’t that be considered a hypocritical question, considering your chiding?” There was only a hint of seriousness in his playful tone, but it was enough to strike Tonks as severe.
“Of course it is,” she laughed in return, before cutting across his reply to get to the point. “I really do like you, Remus, but…”
“But what?” A small sigh escaped from Remus’ lips, his misty breath streaming from between parted lips like smoke. There was a hidden subtext in his words, she could tell that lycanthropy and old were words that lingered at the edge of his mind.
“It’s you. You’re sitting here in denial about Sirius and about this war about everything, and I can’t tell if you’re in denial about me too or it’s something else entirely.”
“That’s what I’m not understanding, Tonks. What makes you think I’m in denial?”
“Since when do you drink like this?” Tonks countered with yet another sigh. This was the thing that irked her about her relationship - she was at a loss as to what she should call it - they both danced around each other, asking question after question and never finding an answer. “You know it’s only started because Sirius died. You’re trying to be like Sirius, Remus; you’re trying to be someone you can’t be, and someone who hasn’t existed for at least fifteen years at that.”
“And you call that denial? I’m accepting the fact that he’s gone, Tonks. I’m trying to commemorate him.”
“By wasting away yourself?” Yet again, she reached for the wine bottle, her fingers brushing against Remus’ skin and her heart thumping wildly. She was beginning to hate herself for this utterly disgusting lack of self-control.
“What is there to live for? Two of my best mates gone, one of who was killed at the hands of another, no job, I’m a…”
“Stop right there,” Tonks demanded; Remus lingered in her vision, a blurry, alcohol induced shadow making him hard to focus upon. “You’ve got lots to live for. Your friends in the Order, for a start.” She threw her glass down on the table with a thump and refilled it yet; the number of drinks she’d had was now leaking from her mind, but the bottle was nearly empty, and she took that to mean that she’d drunk a lot. She could almost feel the alcohol and the stray thoughts of why and what am I meant to say draining out of her mind.
“Friends? Tonks, think about it. They only talk to me because of the Order; the only person who talks to me outside meetings with any regularity other than the occasional owl about patrol times and duty is you.”
“Well you don’t exactly make an effort, do you? If you really cared, you’d be out with Kingsley and Hestia instead of sitting here drinking.”
“Caring doesn’t get you anywhere, it seems.”
Something in his words triggered a surge of passion in her, and before she knew what she was doing, Tonks leant over the table, the hem of her shirt brushing gently against the table, and laid her lips upon his. There was a rush of spinning emotions as time caught up with her, her soft pink lips smashed against Remus’ tender, scarred ones. She could feel him responding as she started to wonder why the hell she was doing this, and then she just let her mind go. The kiss lasted for a few seconds before they resurfaced, both wearing red faces as they blushed.
There was an awkward silence, as Remus and Tonks contemplated what had just happened.
“You… I-what?”
Tonks laughed at the incoherent nature of Remus’ question, feeling the wine she’d drunk bubbling in her throat as she did so. Even now, she couldn’t explain her actions, and maybe, she wouldn’t need to. There were still quite a few unidentifiable feelings between them, but for now, she just snorted again and held up the wine bottle.
“Fancy a drink?”
“Like you say, wine isn’t going to render me incapacitated - or, as you so politely put it, wasted - so, really Dora, what’s the harm?” It was almost a battle of silent wits as Remus and Tonks stared at each, with expressions that weren’t quite made of disgust, but certainly weren’t made of affection. Remus took yet another sip of the wine, its bitter taste burnt his throat almost as much as her livid glare, and promptly began to dab at his shirt. The wine had soaked through the threadbare fabric, leaving a deep crimson stain on the breast pocket.
“It’s not healthy.”
She leaned across the table, her eyes once again locked upon his in an attempt to implore Remus to listen to her. He flinched slightly as she caressed his hand, the stumps of her fingernails scraping gently along his taut skin, but said nothing. He didn’t need to; Tonks could see every emotion he willingly possessed, and even more that he didn’t, they were reflected in his steady gaze. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cool summers breeze ran up her spine, but she ignored, collecting herself and looking Remus straight in the eye.
“I know it’s not healthy, but Sirius was a chain smoker and an alcoholic and he still seemed pretty damn happy.
She felt his skin, calloused and yet somewhat smooth against her hand, and she looked down to see Remus’ own fingers turning purple - she’d been clasping them harder than she thought. Tonks pulled away with a nervous titter,
“Happy?” Tonks had always been the inquisitive one in this friendship (if she could call it that), much more so than Remus - he only questioned books and emotions, and he wasn’t even very talented at that - and yet the resignation in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She watched in despair as he sipped at yet another glass of wine, this one a sparkling purple that bubbled incessantly, before opening her mouth again. “He was a bloomin’ man with demons Remus, he’d been locked in that hell hole for twelve years, and you have the nerve to call him happy.”
“Well he certainly wasn’t dead, was he?”
“Oh, Re- give me that!” With fumbling fingers, Tonks wrenched the wine glass from his poised hand. It fell to the ground with a crash, causing a cascade of what resembled fireworks. “You’re bloody useless, I tell you.” She brushed against him as she leaned over to vanish the wine from the carpet, and felt her heart do that familiar flutter. They’d known each other what, a year - no, eighteen months now - and Tonks still could not help but feel her heart jump every time she touched him. Her blush marred her words a little bit, and they weren’t quite as venomous as she’d originally hoped, but Remus could still feel them twisting a knife into his side.
“What?” Remus asked, raising his eyebrows and imploring Tonks to explain further. With a weary sigh, he then rested his head on his cupped hands, staring intently at her, and for the first time, Tonks could see the wolf in his face. She wasn’t sure if it was his mingled expression of tiredness and emotional pain or just the way the scars were etched into his face like artwork, but he suddenly seemed so vulnerable and so… so old.
It was almost as though he’d gone through a faulty metamorphosis, advancing his body into the future, creasing and crinkling and graying it, and leaving his mind in the past.
“You’re stuck in the past Remus, that’s what,” Tonks said finally, taking a sip of wine from the glass she had tugged from his fingers. “You’re stuck with this image of what Sirius was like twenty years ago, and he was never going to be that man again.”
“So it’s all my fault,” Remus replied. His slightly shocked expression made it obvious that he hadn’t intended to fight back - he could be so bloody lacklustre at times. “It’s my fault that I was best friends with the man he was.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault, Remus. You just need to stop deluding yourself.”
Tonks leaned over him, downing yet another mouthful of the wine as she spoke. It was much too sweet for her and she shuddered, wondering why on earth Remus would willingly drink such a thing.
“Remus, you’re definitely stuck in the past. You live in a world where you shut your eyes and everything will be hunky dory and you’ll be chasing Lily around with Sirius and James again, but the world isn’t really like that.”
“Well if I’m stuck in the past, then you’re trapped in a future which we can’t have.” Sirius had spent hours telling Tonks stories, holding a smouldering cigar in one hand and a glass of Firewhiskey in the other; they mostly revolved around Remus’ escapades as a Marauder - it was almost impossible to believe that the man in front of her, who wore his stretched, marred skin like a too large coat, could have spirit, and yet, he did. She’d often perceived him as the quiet, almost standoffish type, and it was refreshing to know that he too could fight back.
“We?”
“Don’t deny this either, Tonks. It’s bad enough that you’re pretending Sirius isn’t gone, that he’s up in Buckbeak’s room or on guard duty. Don’t pretend you don’t at least appreciate me being around.”
“I do… but it’s not like dreaming of us having a future together or anything.”
Searching for something, anything to keep Remus’ attention off her, Tonks pointed feebly at the wine bottle, sending the cork flying across the room with a single flick of her wand; it skidded past Remus’ head and collided with the opposite wall.
“Want a glass?” she asked, her reddening cheek pointed in Remus’ direction.
“Wouldn’t that be considered a hypocritical question, considering your chiding?” There was only a hint of seriousness in his playful tone, but it was enough to strike Tonks as severe.
“Of course it is,” she laughed in return, before cutting across his reply to get to the point. “I really do like you, Remus, but…”
“But what?” A small sigh escaped from Remus’ lips, his misty breath streaming from between parted lips like smoke. There was a hidden subtext in his words, she could tell that lycanthropy and old were words that lingered at the edge of his mind.
“It’s you. You’re sitting here in denial about Sirius and about this war about everything, and I can’t tell if you’re in denial about me too or it’s something else entirely.”
“That’s what I’m not understanding, Tonks. What makes you think I’m in denial?”
“Since when do you drink like this?” Tonks countered with yet another sigh. This was the thing that irked her about her relationship - she was at a loss as to what she should call it - they both danced around each other, asking question after question and never finding an answer. “You know it’s only started because Sirius died. You’re trying to be like Sirius, Remus; you’re trying to be someone you can’t be, and someone who hasn’t existed for at least fifteen years at that.”
“And you call that denial? I’m accepting the fact that he’s gone, Tonks. I’m trying to commemorate him.”
“By wasting away yourself?” Yet again, she reached for the wine bottle, her fingers brushing against Remus’ skin and her heart thumping wildly. She was beginning to hate herself for this utterly disgusting lack of self-control.
“What is there to live for? Two of my best mates gone, one of who was killed at the hands of another, no job, I’m a…”
“Stop right there,” Tonks demanded; Remus lingered in her vision, a blurry, alcohol induced shadow making him hard to focus upon. “You’ve got lots to live for. Your friends in the Order, for a start.” She threw her glass down on the table with a thump and refilled it yet; the number of drinks she’d had was now leaking from her mind, but the bottle was nearly empty, and she took that to mean that she’d drunk a lot. She could almost feel the alcohol and the stray thoughts of why and what am I meant to say draining out of her mind.
“Friends? Tonks, think about it. They only talk to me because of the Order; the only person who talks to me outside meetings with any regularity other than the occasional owl about patrol times and duty is you.”
“Well you don’t exactly make an effort, do you? If you really cared, you’d be out with Kingsley and Hestia instead of sitting here drinking.”
“Caring doesn’t get you anywhere, it seems.”
Something in his words triggered a surge of passion in her, and before she knew what she was doing, Tonks leant over the table, the hem of her shirt brushing gently against the table, and laid her lips upon his. There was a rush of spinning emotions as time caught up with her, her soft pink lips smashed against Remus’ tender, scarred ones. She could feel him responding as she started to wonder why the hell she was doing this, and then she just let her mind go. The kiss lasted for a few seconds before they resurfaced, both wearing red faces as they blushed.
There was an awkward silence, as Remus and Tonks contemplated what had just happened.
“You… I-what?”
Tonks laughed at the incoherent nature of Remus’ question, feeling the wine she’d drunk bubbling in her throat as she did so. Even now, she couldn’t explain her actions, and maybe, she wouldn’t need to. There were still quite a few unidentifiable feelings between them, but for now, she just snorted again and held up the wine bottle.
“Fancy a drink?”