Hear the Angel Voices

[wildmagelet]

Title: Hear the Angel Voices
Author: wildmagelet
Format: Fic
Rating & Warnings: T (warning for sexual references)
Prompts: Carol singing and a blanket (although the latter prompt really only appears as scenery, sorry!)
Word Count: 8,001
Summary: It's Christmas, it's war, Remus is short on money, Tonks is short on tact, and the good guys are losing ground in the battle. But sometimes you can find Christmas spirit in the most unlikely of places.
Author’s Notes: This is very rushed and hasn't been beta-read at all, so there will almost definitely be mistakes, sorry, but after being such a hopeless participant last time, I wanted to get this in on time. Just, since it's 3pm on Christmas Eve here already!

Once again, I seem to have written about Tonks, Ginny and shoes. I'm not very original!

I hope everyone and their families have a very happy Christmas and New Year!



Ridiculously expensive perfume charm for Fleur. Check.

Electronic toy car for Arthur. Fun, yet not conceivably dangerous, so will likely avoid a lecture from Molly on appropriate gifts. Check.

Silver cauldron and hippogriff nail clippings for Moody…

Tonks gazed into the paper sack in question and wrinkled her nose. Not her idea of a funky gift. The cauldron, one of Madam Clang’s best, was the only present she’d dared to shrink down for easy storage after last year’s shopping fiasco. Her mother had pasted on a tight smile and worn her filigree candlesticks as earrings for most of Boxing Day, but her Dad still hadn’t a clue what to do with a pixie-sized tool-box. Although the pliers, he’d joked, worked a treat on his toenails.

Speaking of which, what kind of Christmas potion asked for hippogriff nail clippings, for Merlin’s sake?

Hopefully not an edible one…

Shuddering, Tonks dropped the box from the Apothecary back into the shrunken cauldron, which was hopefully sturdy enough to withstand her previous track record with packing spells. The other gifts she’d bought that morning were staying their exact size and in their store-wrapped paper until Christmas Day. At which point, they would result in squeals of glee and endless rounds of free drinks because they were, if Tonks did say so herself, bloody fantastic choices. Nail clippings aside. But Moody was going through a particularly odd brand of mid-life crisis, involving a fetish for festive potions and baking, and the man had to be humoured.

She was particularly proud of the shoes she’d found for Ginny. They were red, they were shiny and they’d cost a day’s pay. They would also undo all of the points she’d earned with Molly for taking up with “such a dear man”, but that couldn’t be helped. The girl had a bloke with a nobility complex and an apparent death wish. She should at least own a pair of killer heels.

The same reasoning had resulted in Tonks’s Christmas present to herself last year. Leaning back against the wooden bench, she chewed on a nail thoughtfully and admired her favourite boots. Cost a fortune, but were wearing well. Of course, she’d have traded them in a flash for the chance to spend the holidays with that dear man.

This year, she thought, unable to keep a silly grin from tugging at her mouth.

Her first proper Christmas with Remus.

In the middle of a war.

She still couldn’t wait.

Snuggling by the fireplace, snogging under the mistletoe…shagging under the tree. And exchanging presents at the Burrow.

Tonks’s smirk slowly faded into a scowl.

Bugger.

She still hadn’t a clue what to do about the most important present. Christmas was only three days away and she was already entertaining less than cheery thoughts about her fellow shoppers. She’d found a book at Flourish and Blotts that Remus would flip over. She could buy that. There were the dress robes at Madam Malkin’s. They were the exact shade of his eyes and the material was soft enough to make a grown man purr. Fudge was always a safe bet - the fattening candy rather than the nauseating ex-Minister. She’d discovered Remus’s weakness for fudge during a particularly successful night out in London in September. She could buy any of those things. She could buy all of those things.

If she hadn’t had a temporary moment of insanity last week and insisted that they give each other a homemade present.

Making a gift was romantic, she’d argued. It required thought, time and effort. Anyone could buy a box of chocs, but an unidentifiable knitted object, now that truly spelled devotion. It also spelled cheap, which was the whole - transparently obvious - point. Remus’s pride had risen with his hackles and the rest of the afternoon had passed in slightly hostile debate.

“I can afford to buy you a present, Tonks,” he’d snapped in a voice frostier than the proverbial snowman. “I’m not a complete charitable case, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. And I don’t know how to knit.”

“Knitting was a flexible example,” she’d informed him, equally crossly. “Paint something, then! Bake. Write. Sing. Stand naked outside my window and serenade me with carols! This isn’t about charity, it’s about bloody romance!”

A reluctant smile had crept onto his face.

“Actually, it would be about premature deafness and frostbite in unmentionable places if I took you up on that last suggestion.”

They’d stared at each other for a moment, before Remus had sighed heavily and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I imagine Molly could do serious damage with those knitting needles, so I won’t poach on her territory. Singing it is, then. I’ll owl first to make sure you’re home. No point in getting my kit off without an appreciative audience.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Tonks had teased him with false lightness. “Mrs. Gates next door would love it. She said just last week that you’ve got a cute bum.”

They’d dropped the subject after that, but Remus had continued to look troubled and she’d felt absolutely awful about the whole thing. She’d approached the topic with her usual sterling grace and tact, but it really wouldn’t matter if she had Rufus Scrimgeour’s ability to pull the wool over people’s eyes. She could try pulling the whole blasted sheep and Remus would still be sensitive to any suggestion that he wasn’t able to pull his weight.

But the reality was that he needed every knut and sickle he could get his hands on and there was no way he was spending money on her that was literally his livelihood. She’d be joining him for nude caroling first.

“Pardon me, miss. Is there room for me to sit?”

An elderly man with a sack of toys and an uncanny resemblance to Father Christmas had paused hopefully near the busy bench, attracting a great deal of attention from passing children.

Shifting her parcels to the wet ground, Tonks scooted over and smiled back as the gentleman seated himself to the accompaniment of creaking wood and knee joints. Her brows rose slightly as he rustled in one pocket for a newspaper and the unmistakable aroma of gin rose from the folds of his coat.

Shaking her head, she glanced at the Daily Prophet sticking out of her own bags. While her love life had improved immeasurably since the dismal days of last Christmas, the rest of the wizarding world was in a state of complete disaster, as the rag proclaimed in inappropriately jubilant tones in every edition. Seizing hold of the paper, she shook it out and stared at the front page. In the last days before Christmas, a paper ought to be full of increasingly desperate advertisements and complaints about the weather and crowds. It shouldn’t be displaying a headline like Blood Runs in the Streets of London, accompanied by a particularly gruesome photograph of Greyback Fenrir’s latest act of carnage that ought never have been released to the public.

Tonks gazed around at the manic shopping scene. It was noisy and chaotic, but she was suddenly grateful for the madness. At least people were making an effort to celebrate amidst the increasing darkness. In a time when children’s fears of monsters were no longer something for their older siblings to scoff at, people were still venturing into the streets and refusing to hide.

Foolhardy civilians were an Auror’s nightmare, but did a girl’s heart proud.

The holidays could be expensive and stressful, but they could also pull people together like nothing else. Britain needed Christmas now more than ever. The Ministry had long since given up hiding the effects of Voldemort’s evil. The world was fracturing; people were turning against one another. Muggles, Squibs, Dark Creatures - anyone in the least bit different was becoming a common enemy. All of her family and friends were potential targets of attack. Tonks touched a strand of dark hair. Bright pink and sunny yellow shades were now only seen by the walls of her apartment. Her customary colours were too recognisable, too dangerous. Times were dark, in every sense of the word. She scanned the first few lines of the Prophet’s depressing cover story. Two six-year-olds this time. More kids who wouldn’t see Christmas Day.

Despite Ministry propaganda, despite the heart-warmingly rude Christmas shoppers, Tonks could at least admit in her head what no one on their side would ever say aloud.

The Dark Arts were winning the battle.

But right here, right now in Diagon Alley, they were being conquered. The children singing carols on the street corner, people standing up to their ankles in the grey slush that was masquerading as a white Christmas this year, the stressed parents, the happy shop-keepers, the enormous tree in the centre of the Alley, complete with a heckling, tipsy angel courtesy of Fred and George Weasley, it was all of the sights around Tonks that convinced her anew that Evil wouldn’t win the war.

All sappiness aside, if she didn’t think they would eventually kick the Death Eaters’ miserable asses to where they belonged - either the dingiest cells of Azkaban or beyond the Veil, she wasn’t fussy - she’d be tempted to give up and lay down arms then and there. War was a nasty, ugly thing and it was going to get uglier before the end.

But for now, they had Christmas.

And she had a boyfriend who had been mysteriously bustling around and holding secret conferences with Arthur for days. Given the way they would start nervously and exchange nervous smiles whenever she walked into the room, they were either planning her gift or indulging in a torrid affair.

And there was a thought for ridding her mind of the Dark Lord and his sociopathic mates.

Stuffing the newspaper in with Ginny’s shoes, Tonks gathered her heavy bags, took one last whiff of the gin-swilling Santa look-alike and began to weave her way toward the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, the old hustler, was taking people’s parcels for home delivery and letting folk use his Floo portal for the humble fee of fifteen sickles. It was outright robbery and she technically ought to report him to the Consumers’ Department at the Ministry, but her feet hurt, her stomach wanted a glass of Remus’s egg-nog, which was the least disgusting she’d ever tasted, and her bland hair was depressing her. Exorbitant fee and fast trip home it was.

Spiked egg-nog and pink curls, here I come.

Tom grinned toothlessly and unrepentantly in response to her token Severe Look. Handing over her purchases, with the exception of the red shoes, which were far too beautiful to risk mysteriously disappearing or residing on the feet of an elderly publican, Tonks stepped into the Floo portal and closed her eyes for the whirling, sickening trip home.

A direct Floo portal was also on the forbidden list, so she arrived, coughing and spluttering, at the dry cleaners down the road from her flat.

“Wotcher, Mr. Wilson!” she greeted the perpetually cranky man at the counter. “Happy Christmas, then.”

“Oh, ay. Is it?” was the predictably cheerful response.

“Goodnight, Mr. Wilson,” Tonks said, grinning as she walked back out into the cold and turned up her coat collar.

It was beginning to sleet again, which was at least a step closer to snow than the rain that had set in at dusk the previous night.

Tonks tucked her left hand into her fur-lined pocket and wrapped the plastic bag in her right around her frozen fingers. As she stepped over an interesting pile of slush that contained a piece of carrot and had hopefully been a somewhat sad attempt at a snowman rather than someone’s regurgitated lunch, her thoughts turned back toward Remus. Which was nothing new, although she usually thought of him a little more fondly than at present.

Not that she was bitter that he’d apparently come up with a brilliant idea after being so entirely negative about her homemade gifts idea. When she couldn’t think of one bloody thing that wouldn’t have him splitting his sides with laughter or running for the door. Not bitter at all.

She’d actually become so desperate over the weekend that she’d pinched a couple of Molly’s needles and given knitting a try.

One of the needles was now impaled in her kitchen wall and she figured it would take around ten years to make Remus one sock, let alone a scarf.

Baking was obviously out. During a particularly boring evening, she’d once been overcome by a short-lived burst of domesticity and tried to make chocolate chip biscuits for the next Order meeting. They’d looked revolting and tasted even worse according to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who’d been forced at wand-point to nibble at one.

Desperate times called for desperate measures and yesterday she had called in reinforcements. Molly, who had three decades of experience in making presents for difficult men, had owled back directly. Unfortunately, as her suggestions all involved knitting and baking, her input hadn’t proved especially helpful.

A rather half-hearted response from poor Ginny, who had been stuck at Hogwarts until this morning, suggested that she speak to Madam Pomfrey. More than a little confused by that answer, Tonks assumed that she had been hoping for an owl from someone else and hadn’t actually read the question. On the off-chance that she had read the question and Tonks was missing something, she’d also written to Poppy. However, a “vigorous massage to improve circulation” didn’t sound like something Remus would or should be interested in, so that idea had also been scrapped.

Her mother had written back with a detailed and frosty account of her busy Christmas schedule - and if Nymphadora could find the time to confirm her attendance at their New Years Eve party, to which she had been invited a month ago, it would be much appreciated. No go there, either.

The twins, whom Tonks hadn’t actually asked for advice but who had apparently found their mother’s letter, strongly recommended a book of personalized coupons. Tonks had owled back immediately, threatening to show their offered sample to Molly, which had resulted in an ominous silence from the Burrow end.

As it happened, a book of risqué coupons had already crossed her mind, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Any of her previous boyfriends would have been thrilled and exploited the offer until Valentine’s Day, but Tonks just couldn’t imagine presenting Remus Lupin with an IOU for sexual favours. Not that the man wasn’t capable of taking her up on the offer - she blushed in remembrance of last night alone - or that he wouldn’t appreciate a dirty joke. He had lived in the same house as Sirius Black for quite some time. But whatever Remus’s skills in the bedroom and undeniable mischievous streak, she couldn’t give an x-rated present to a former Hogwarts professor. It just wouldn’t be right.

It was while meditating on increasingly silly gift ideas for Remus that Tonks turned into her street and committed the most stupid error of all.

Moody’s monotonous hark of “Constant vigilance!” was still annoying, but it was also more relevant now than it had ever been. As Kingsley stated plainly to new recruits, a distracted Auror was a dead Auror.

The few seconds that it took before she heard the footsteps were enough for it already to be too late.

Rough hands swung her around, seizing and breaking her wand before she could retaliate. An instinctive non-verbal sent one attacker reeling, before five more came at her with binding and stunning spells.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” said the biggest and tallest of the bunch. He had an ordinary, pleasant face. Lines about his eyes suggested a habit of smiling, although right then they contained nothing except cold disgust.

“Bind her arms,” another voice ordered, and the invisible pressure about her legs and waist gripped her upper arms, forcing them against her sides. A rough shove sent her sprawling to the ground and she cried out as her head hit the cobblestones.

“I think that hurt her, mate,” said a younger man, grinning nastily at her. “Better watch your step.”

A heavy boot slammed down on the fingers of her right hand, which was frozen about her shopping bag, unable to relax its clasp. Tonks vaguely heard the cracking sound through the thrumming in her ears. A force smashed into her cheekbone and pain ripped through her temples and down into her teeth. It could have been a curse or simply a fist; she was beyond logical thought.

“Now, now, baby. Leaving the party already?” The viciously amused words were the last she heard before a second blow to her head sent her falling abruptly into blessed darkness.

&&&&&

Arthur stamped his feet on the doormat out of sheer habit and knocked on the door, just once and very loudly.

“Whozzit?” came a mumbled response from behind the Charm-enforced wood. It was deep in tone and presumably belonged to one of his sons, although he couldn’t quite place it.

“It’s Arthur,” he called, trying to keep his voice steady. It was proving difficult. His hands were also shaking, despite the warm gloves that Molly had knitted for his birthday.

“Right-o, Dad.” The bolts scraped in their locks and the door began to open. Charlie’s tanned, freckled face appeared, his mouth smeared with chocolate. “In you…”

“Question,” Arthur grated impatiently.

Charlie’s forehead creased in puzzlement. “What’s that?”

“Ask me the security question!”

“Security question… Right. Mum!” Charlie called over his shoulder. “What’s the security question for Dad?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” Arthur was barely resisting the urge to yank the door from his son’s grasp when Molly’s beaming face appeared at Charlie’s shoulder.

“You’re home early, dear! Come and taste this trifle.”

“Molly! Question.”

His wife rolled her eyes and huffed out her cheeks impatiently. “Honestly, Arthur, this is just absurd. It’s been proven time and again that this particular measure is about as effective as…”

“It’s the rules, Molly,” Arthur said, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Goodness knows, this world could do with some rules just now.”

A frown appeared in Molly’s eyes. “Arthur, are you all…” She stopped. “What book did you read in seventh year Muggle Studies?” she asked quietly.

“Treasure Island. What was your third year boggart?”

“Losing my brothers.” Her lips tight, Molly gripped his sleeve and pulled him inside. “What is it? What’s happened?

The kitchen was warm and festive. Fairies swung their legs from the garlands above the table and a syrupy smell was floating from the bubbling pot on the stove. Ginny stood with a wooden spoon in hand and a fixed expression on her face. From the sheer quantity of flour that covered his daughter, Arthur assumed that Molly’s latest attempt at a cooking lesson was not going well. After taking one look at his face, Ginny dropped the spoon into the pot with a splash. Without moving, even her mouth seeming stiff, she asked, “Dad? Is it Ron? Is it…is it Harry?”

Charlie had dropped to sit on a stool, his face pale. Waiting. Visibly bracing himself.

“Arthur?” Molly’s voice was hushed, her eyes already filling with tears. “No, Arthur. Not now. Not at Christmas. Not… Not now.”

Arthur reached out and gripped Ginny’s arm reassuringly. “It’s not Ron, sweetheart. Not Harry or Hermione.” He looked at Molly. “It’s Tonks, love.”

“Tonks?” Charlie was expressionless.

Molly’s head slowly turned back and forth. “She’s…she isn’t…”

“She’s alive,” he said tiredly. “She’s not dead, Molly. But she’s hurt. An owl just arrived from St. Mungo’s for Gawain Robards. Tonks has been in the hospital since last night. She was…attacked…badly beaten outside her apartment block. Remus found her. He’s with her. We have to go now.”

“I don’t understand. She was beaten? They just left her? Why would they leave her a-alive?”

“Molly, put your coat on,” Arthur said gently, steering her unresisting form back toward the door. “Ginny, Charlie, get your things. I don’t know many of the details, love. Only what the letter said and what the Healer knew. Remus hasn’t spoken a word yet. He might know more. But it wasn’t Death Eaters.”

“It wasn’t Vol-Voldemort?” Charlie asked, barely stumbling over the name. Harry’s family was well-trained. “Then who the hell was it?” Spots of furious colour were beginning to blotch his white cheeks.

Arthur pushed Molly’s stiff fingers away from her buttons and did up her coat. “It wasn’t done on the Dark Lord’s orders, although all this violence can be traced back to the poison he’s spreading. They left a marker beside her. It was one of the new militant groups, the POTF, they call themselves,” he said bitterly. “Bloody thugs.”

“POTF?” Ginny pulled on her woolen hat with haphazard hands, knocking her ponytail askew. She was shivering and shocked. “What’s that?”

It was Molly who responded, her voice thick with disgust. “’Protection of the Family’. They think they’re angels of justice, keeping the decent families of Britain safe.”

“Safe from what? Why would they… What’s wrong with Tonks?” Ginny looked bewildered.

“There’s nothing wrong with Tonks,” Molly said briskly. She was starting to regain a little of her colour, although the tears continued to stream unheeded down her cheeks. Reaching for Ginny’s hand, she held it tightly. Arthur opened his mouth when Ginny moved forward, but his daughter met his gaze and nodded slightly, wrapping her fingers about her mother’s. She understood that Molly needed comfort from her children as much as they needed her. She was a good girl.

“There’s nothing wrong with Remus, either,” he added flatly. “Although the POTF crusaders would disagree.”

“They hurt Tonks because of Lupin?” Charlie asked fiercely. “Why would they do that?”

“A few people at the Ministry have openly declared allegiance to groups like POTF.” Arthur’s lip curled. “They think all Dark Creatures should be destroyed, for the safety of the children. And they believe that ‘mixed’ couples like Remus and Tonks are an aberration. Yet they don’t seem to have a problem with ambushing and attacking an innocent woman.”

“If this is because of the werewolf thing,” Charlie said slowly, “why didn’t they go after Remus himself?”

“Because they’re cowards.” Arthur opened the door for his son to leave first and ushered Ginny between them. “They’d rather take their chances with a trained Auror than with a person that they consider a monster.”

Ginny’s hand tightened around her wand and her chin jutted forward. He smiled slightly. His baby girl looked ready to fight a war single-handedly. It was one of the greatest terrors of his life that she might, before this was over, find herself in a position where that would be no great exaggeration. In the meantime, Merlin help any errant militants who crossed her path before they reached the hospital.

“Arthur.” Molly tugged on his sleeve frantically as they closed and sealed the door behind them. “Arthur, what about Remus? He’ll be so… He won’t leave her, will he?”

He knew that she didn’t mean in the immediate tense.

“I don’t know, Molly.” He swallowed, feeling sick at the thought of what they had to walk into tonight. “He was always so afraid that he would somehow hurt her. This probably isn’t what he anticipated, but… I don’t know. According to the hospital staff, he hasn’t let go of her since he brought her in. For now, at least, I don’t think Remus is going anywhere.”

&&&&&

It was Christmas Eve before Tonks cracked open one eye and looked straight at Remus. His face was tired and gaunt, but his grip on her was almost desperately strong. Her left hand was pressed against his rough cheek, his fingers tucked tightly about hers. His other arm rested across her waist, lightly touching the heavy bandage on her right hand. She moved it slightly, testing for pain, but her Healer’s spells were holding. She could feel a slight tingling as the bones worked to re-knit themselves, but mostly her body was caught in an unpleasant numb sensation.

Remus’s expression flickered as he saw her awake, but he didn’t say anything and she stared silently back. There was no confusion or disorientation. She’d been drifting in a state of half-consciousness for hours, vaguely aware of the professional tones and medicinal smells about her. Besides, she’d been in the hospital so many times that she could easily recognize with St. Mungo’s with her eyes closed.

Moving her fingers carefully in Remus’s grasp, she stroked his face. He flinched a little, his own eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. He was unshaven and rather rumpled in appearance; he’d clearly been with her for however long she’d been out. Tonks parted her dry lips and took a few deep, slow breaths. She couldn’t look away from him and yet it was hard…

For the first time since she’d met him years ago, literally stumbling into his arms at Grimmauld Place, Remus truly looked old and it was a shock.

Out of sheer habit, she was searching her mind frantically for a joke or wisecrack to lighten the mood. Remus shifted his arm and placed a gentle palm on her forehead, smoothing her hair back, and she bit her lip at the torment in his expression.

“What…what day is it?” she managed in a broken voice.

“It’s Christmas Eve, dear.” The voice that responded was feminine and thick with tears.

Becoming aware for the first time that there were others in the room, Tonks tore her gaze from Remus and looked about the small private room. It was Molly who had spoken. She was seated near the door, her fist holding tightly to Arthur’s coat. Ginny was standing to one side, looking ill at ease and unwell. Tonks smiled crookedly at her, her face shifting awkwardly under the anaesthesia.

“Wotcher Ginny.”

The younger girl’s mouth trembled and she pressed her lips together, forcing a smile that looked worse than Tonks’s effort had felt.

“Hi, Tonks. You look better today.”

Tonks tried to wrinkle her nose. “I must look a fright. I s’pose I’m not allowed to morph the bruises away yet.”

“You always look lovely, Tonks,” Arthur said, smiling at her. “And Ginny’s right, you do have more colour today.”

Tonks glanced from his anxious face to Remus’s closed expression. “What happened? Was it Death Eaters? Polyjuice? I didn’t recognize any of them.”

There was an awkward silence and she looked from one tense face to the next.

“What? What’s going on?”

“They left a marker, Tonks,” Arthur said eventually, when it became clear that Remus wasn’t going to speak. “It was a militant group from the POTF.”

It took a moment for Tonks’s slightly befogged brain to decipher that one. “POTF? Oh… ‘Protection of the Family’? Those wack-jobs that Ted Millins is always going on about at work?” She frowned. “I don’t get it. Why would they…”

Remus’s hold slackened slightly and she turned to him.

“Remus, what…?” Then, suddenly, she understood. Why Remus looked so ghastly, why Ginny looked so sick, and why Molly and Arthur were so on edge. “Oh,” she said slowly.

Remus started to pull away from her and she turned to him in a rush, ignoring the burst of pain that pierced the numbness. Seizing his wrist, she pulled him closer.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Lupin?” She was suddenly ragingly, furiously angry. A little at Remus, if the git thought he was getting away that easily, but mostly at the bloody mess of a world they lived in.

The elder Weasleys looked shocked at her outburst, although Ginny was beginning to smile a little, properly smile, and Remus had barely reacted at all.

“Tonks,” he said hoarsely. “They did this because of me. Because you’re with me.”

“That’s shite,” she said harshly. “Those wankers are targeting anyone and everyone that doesn’t fit into their idea of a perfect society. They’re supposed to be on our side, but they’re hardly any better than Voldemort. Hating Muggle-borns, hating werewolves, it’s all the same prejudiced bollocks. Maybe this time it was about our relationship, but look at me, mate. I have a Muggle-born father, I have pink hair…well, usually I do; I’m in the Order, I work for the Ministry and I have a mother who turned her back on one of the most inbred and insane families in Britain. Do you know how many people would fancy taking a pop at me? And you can wipe that martyred look off your face, because I’m going to be in a lot of pain once these meds wear off and I don’t want to hear it.”

Letting go of his arm, she flopped back down on the bed, her arm and head aching, and stupid tears welling up in her eyes.

Remus was frozen for a moment, before the colour rushed back to his cheeks and he scowled at her, opening his mouth to respond.

Fortunately, as her roiling tummy was telling her in no uncertain terms that sitting up so soon had not been a good idea, the door opened at that moment. Everyone looked up as a young Healer came in with clipboard in hand and Charlie Weasley at her back.

“Tonks! You’re awake.” Charlie came forward, smiling, to take the hand that Remus had recently dropped like a hot Snargaluff pod and kiss her carefully on the forehead. She could sense Remus shifting restlessly. Still refusing to look at him, she gently detached herself from Charlie’s hold and slid her fingers back into his clasp. His hand instantly tightened about hers.

“Hi, Charlie. You’re looking good. Very…sunny,” she said, smiling back at him. He looked the same as ever. A short and muscular powerhouse, with bronzed skin, a generous helping of freckles and the cheeky grin he’d been sporting since their first year at Hogwarts.

“And you look black and blue,” he said bluntly, giving her the once-over. He winked at her. “But still a looker.”

Leave it to Charlie. Despite the entire hideous situation, Tonks could almost feel Remus rolling his eyes and she herself was biting back a giggle.

The Healer smiled at her as she picked up the chart at the end of the bed.

“You’re looking much better, Nymphadora,” she said approvingly, turning a page. Tonks sighed. New staff. She’d built up quite a relationship with some of the Healers and anyone who’d treated her even once knew that the first name was off-limits. “I administered a third-level potion for the pain two hours ago, which should take you up till midnight. Until then, just try to get some rest. The bones in your hand and ribs are knitting together well, despite previous breaks, and providing that you behave in a sensible manner, I don’t anticipate any problems with your recovery.” She lowered her eyebrows and gave Tonks the look of a woman who could recognize the difficult patients. “Stay calm, lay back, keep up your fluids and sleep, got it?”

Tonks frowned, a little put-out. She would stay calm, as long as certain people didn’t give her reason to act otherwise.

The Healer - “Missy”, according to her name-badge - turned to the Weasleys.

“Visiting hours are almost over, I’m afraid, but we open the doors at ten o’clock for friends and family on Christmas Day. It’s getting dark quickly outside, too, so you’ll want to get your daughter home while there’s still light.”

Tonks noticed that the woman didn’t say a word to Remus, who was admittedly looking a little mutinous. She’d obviously decided that trying to oust him was a lost cause. More relieved than was probably decent at his continued presence, Tonks tightened her grip on his fingers. He still looked tense, but pressed a reassuring kiss to her knuckles.

“Yes, of course,” Molly agreed. “We’ll leave you to sleep, Tonks, and come back in the morning. Bill and Fleur are arriving from France tonight and they’ll want to come and see you tomorrow. The twins are keeping the shop open until midnight tonight, but they were here this morning and they’ll be back tomorrow as well.” Pulling back the drapes at the window, she peered anxiously out at the darkening sky. “We really should leave, dear, I’m sorry. The streets…” She switched her tired gaze to Tonks’s battered face. “Well, they just aren’t safe anymore, are they?”

No. Christmas or no Christmas, they apparently were not.

Feeling a little depressed as the reality of the circumstances sank in, Tonks forced a smile for Ginny, who came forward to give her a feather-light, tentative hug. She returned the gesture with a tight squeeze.

“Any word?” she asked quietly, and Ginny shook her head quickly, her expression closing.

“No, nothing. He… They haven’t written for weeks. Hermione sent a quick note last month, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

There was nothing Tonks could say and she knew it. She touched Ginny’s arm.

“Hang in there, kid.”

Ginny nodded and pulled away. Heading for the doorway after her brother, who had just annoyed Remus by planting an even more enthusiastic kiss on Tonks, a little lower this time, she hesitated and turned back briefly. Her face was sad. Like Remus, she looked too old, too soon.

“It’s Christmas, Tonks.”

Yeah.

Arthur gave her a fatherly pat on the head and a whispered “Get better” in her ear. Tonks swallowed over a lump in her throat. Merlin, she loved these people. Molly bent over to kiss her in a waft of scarves and floral perfume and Tonks caught her elbow before she could straighten.

“Molly,” she said, on a quiet breath. “This is why he left me.”

Molly smoothed the damp strands of brown hair back from her forehead.

“It’s going to be all right, Tonks,” she said firmly.

Tonks wondered if the woman was working some kind of magic, because in that moment she actually believed her.

Please, she thought, as the Healer ushered the Weasleys from the room and closed the door behind her. Please let it be all right. Not just me. Not just Remus and I. Just let it all be all right.

Like any room anywhere that had been vacated by her favourite family, everything suddenly felt silent and empty. Tonks turned her head on the pillow to look at Remus. He was watching her, his eyes guarded.

“Remus…” she began, without any real plan of where her words were leading.

“When Dumbledore died,” Remus interrupted her, his voice breaking, “I made you a promise.”

Tonks nodded slowly, her chest feeling tight and heavy.

“You said that we’re in this together. Until the end.”

“Whenever that may be,” he finished. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he met her gaze squarely. “I’m not going to leave you for your own good, Tonks.”

“I didn’t think…” Tonks lied, her heart pounding.

“You did,” Remus returned. He shifted in his chair. “Of course you did. And I know that it would be for your own good…”

“No, it would not,” she said hotly. “Remus…”

He let go of her abruptly and stood up to pace the length of the room. Pausing at the window, he swung around to face her, shoving his hair back from his face with shaking hands.

“I want you to be able to trust me. I wouldn’t leave you again, not like that. I shouldn’t have done it before, but…”

“Remus,” Tonks said again. She shook her head, exhausted. “We’ve done this. We’ve done the blame thing and the recriminations and the apologies. We’re past that. I trust you.”

“No, you don’t. Not really.” Remus looked sad. “And that is my fault. But you will one day. And I’ll be there to see it.”

“All right,” she said, a knot of tension loosening in her chest. “All right, then.” Puffing out a breath, she glanced at him and scooted over in the bed. “Come. Sit.”

He continued to stand there, staring at her with the oddest expression on his face.

“We have to go,” he said slowly. “Don’t we?”

Tonks blinked.

Go?

Maybe Remus could do with some of Missy’s medical advice himself…

“Go?” she repeated aloud, confused. “You mean, leave the hospital?” She looked down at her bandages and ugly nightgown. “Look, Remus, I don’t want to spend Christmas here either, but I’m not sure I’m up to making a run for it just yet.” She tried to turn her concerned frown into a smile. "You know, you’ve been hanging around with me for way too long,” she joked feebly.

“So people would seem to think,” he agreed, not a little bitterly. He came back to her side and leaned his fists on the edge of her bed. “Not leave the hospital. Of course you have to stay here until you’ve recovered. But then…We could get away from here. Away from England.”

Tonks tried to speak, but nothing emerged except a strangled squeak. She instinctively tried to sit up, but stopped with a gasp as her abused ribs protested a second righteous gesture.

Remus had appeared anything but convinced by his own statement, but seemed to gain fresh conviction at the sight of her pain. Gently pushing her back onto pillows, he carefully sat down on the mattress and touched the pad of his thumb to her cheek.

“You’re not safe here.” His entire stance was exuding anxiety and anger. For the first time, Tonks realized exactly how angry he was. She suspected it was only her need of him that was stopping him from going out into the streets and tracking the men who’d attacked her. “I can’t keep you safe.” He sounded anguished.

“Remus.” Tonks dropped all lightness from her voice. “Remus, I’ve never been safe here. But none of us are safe anywhere. You know that we can’t leave. This isn’t a choice between fight or flee anymore. This is everybody’s war now. Nobody can hide. We’re in this until the end. Whenever that may be and however things turn out.”

He looked ready to protest, but she held his gaze and watched as reason began to return to his face, followed by a profound sadness.

“Tonks,” he said unsteadily. Lowering his face to hers, he pressed gentle lips to the corner of her mouth. His body, still too thin and battered, was pulled taut with emotion. “Tonks,” he said her name again. “I don’t know… I don’t think this is going to turn out well.”

Tears were pooling in Tonks’s eyes and clogging her chest and throat, but she fought them hard. She refused to bawl on Christmas Eve.

“I know,” she said with difficulty. “But we don’t have to think about that tonight. It’s Christmas, Remus. For now, we have Christmas.”

A heavy sigh escaped him and he relaxed into the covers beside her. His face was lined with a type of grief and she couldn’t bear to look at him or she would cry. Turning her face resolutely toward the window, its curtains still open, she gazed out into the gathering darkness.

Her room faced the adjacent wing of the hospital and she had a direct view of the rooms opposite. Most people had also left their curtains open and she watched for a few silent minutes as figures moved about, illuminated by the interior light.

A young man was standing at one window, holding a wrapped bundle in his arms and gazing down at it with the most tender expression she had ever seen on someone’s face. Completely oblivious to anyone else, he was rocking his arms, shuffling back and forth, almost dancing with the baby. In the room below, an elderly couple stood with their arms about each other, both in hospital issued dressing gowns, gazing out into the night. She could just see a little girl in the highest window, her nose pressed flat against the glass in a way that would have been funny were it not for the almost painful expectation on her face. If she was waiting for Santa Claus, Tonks sincerely hoped that someone delivered. Somehow, she thought they would.

And as strands of a very familiar sound began to float down the hall, she began to smile. A true, proper smile.

Remus shifted to look at her.

“What?” he asked, sounding heartbreakingly listless.

“Look,” she said in a hushed voice. The man with the baby did a particularly vigorous twirl and an exasperated young woman appeared at his side to join the group. Tonks grinned as the new mother was whisked into the dance. “And listen.”

Remus followed her gaze.

“Carols,” he said after a moment. “They must bring carol singers in on Christmas Eve for the patients.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, ignoring his tired tone.

And it was. The singing wasn’t the best she’d ever heard. There was obviously more than one child participating and several people were on a par with her in terms of ability, but they had feeling and that was what was important.

“We’re going to win, Remus,” she said suddenly, rolling over to look at him. “Even if…even if we don’t all make to the last fight, we are going to win. And that’s why.”

Remus just shook his head.

“Don’t you get it?” She pointed out the window. “It’s everywhere.”

“What is?” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Sickness? Pain? Grief? I get it, Tonks… Ouch!” He jerked upward and glared at her, rubbing the imprint of her pinch from his forearm. “I hope you have a good reason for that.”

“Not sickness, Scrooge,” Tonks snapped. She gestured wildly toward the door, which would hopefully not be invaded by carolers any time soon. She preferred the lovely singing from a distance. “Love.”

“Love,” Remus repeated skeptically. His face was lined with worry and fatigue, his clothes were wrinkled and he probably hadn’t eaten for two days. He could be forgiven for being a little slow on the uptake, but Tonks shrugged that off.

“There’s love everywhere here,” she insisted, aware that she was venturing into the dangerously soppy, but for once completely uncaring. Remus wouldn’t tell anyone. “There wouldn’t be sadness and grief without the love. And maybe it makes loss harder, but it makes life easier. What else are we fighting for but that?” She poked him in the chest once for emphasis. “I’m going to be in serious pain tomorrow, those bastards in the POTF have well put the boot in our Christmas plans and I’ve caused you and everyone else a lot of worry. We don’t know what next year will bring and we might lose more ground in this war before we finally give Tom Riddle the kick in the pants he’s been asking for since birth, but it doesn’t matter right now.”

Remus quirked a brow at her and shook his head, but he was listening.

“Look, nobody’s all good or all bad, are they? The men who attacked me two days ago believed that they were doing the right thing, that they were protecting their children. They love their families. Unfortunately they’re also violent bigots and just plain wrong and they’re going to regret that. But if I didn’t believe that most people in the world are mostly good, with just a little bit of everyday, garden variety bad, I would believe that Voldemort will win. If that weren't the case, he should win. But it is. And he won’t.”

Remus was silent for a moment after her indignant speech ended in a gasp for breath through her fractured ribs. Then he kissed her on the mouth, his lips soft and familiar. He gently eased them both down onto the pillow and jerked his head at the lights. His well-practised non-verbal nox extinguished their glow, so that the room lay in darkness.

“Go to sleep, Tonks,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck and spooning his body protectively about hers.

Tonks lay in the dark for a minute, listening to the carol singers, who sounded as if they had moved a little closer. She was getting sleepy.

“I’m right, Remus,” she said confidently, stifling a yawn.

He shifted against her and she shivered as warm breath touched her cheek.

“I know you are.” His voice was rock-steady and sincere.

Tonks closed her eyes, breathing deeply and evenly. She was just starting to drift off when a sudden thought had her lashes flying open.

“Buggering bollocks!”

Remus jumped.

“What?”

“The shoes for Ginny!” she wailed, trying to sit up. “I didn’t want to leave them with Tom, so I carried them home.”

Remus clamped his arms around her and held her down.

“Tonks, would you lay down? You’re hurt enough. And if the shoes were in the shopping bag you were carrying, don’t worry. You kept a death grip on the thing. The Healer managed to prise it out of your hand. It’s under the chair in the corner.”

“Oh.” Tonks was just relaxing when another - even more horrifying - thought occurred to her. “Remus?” she said tentatively.

“Yes, Tonks.” He sounded resigned.

“I didn’t make you a present yet.”

“That’s all right, Tonks.” He tucked her closer into the curve of his body. “You held on out there long enough for me to get you here. Believe me, you never have to give me a gift ever again.”

Tonks rubbed his arm comfortingly and he let his head fall back against her own.

“Remus?”

“Tonks…”

“What did you make for me?”

There was another pause and he stiffened slightly.

“Remus?”

He levered himself away from her and she turned curiously to look at him. The dimmed lights in the hallway provided just enough of a glow to highlight the embarrassment in his face.

She bit down on her smile.

“Blimey, what kind of present are you giving me?” She prodded him in the ribs. “Is it dirty?”

His cheeks flamed and Tonks almost choked.

“It is! What is it?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” he said firmly, tucking the covers around her in a determined manner. “Possibly,” he added under his breath.

“I’m not going to sleep until you tell me,” Tonks threatened. “And then I won’t get better and I’ll have to tell Missy that it’s your fault.”

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Remus Lupin…”

“Coupons,” he finally blurted out, still an endearing shade of pink under the growth of his beard. “They’re a type of coupons.”

Tonks stared at him in blatant disbelief.

“You’re taking the mickey.”

“That’s it.” Remus nearly leapt from the bed. “I’ll kip in the chair. Be quiet and go to sleep.”

Tonks pulled the covers over her chest and folded her arms across them, grinning at the ceiling.

Oh, this Christmas had just got so much better.

“So, coupons,” she said to the ceiling. “The twins, was it?”

“No,” said Remus stiffly, after a moment. “Actually, they were Arthur’s suggestion. Apparently he and Molly… Well…”

Tonks whistled silently.

“Cripes. And the woman can knit and bake, too.”

“We are not having this conversation. Good night, Tonks.”

As he rustled around, trying to get comfortable in the chair, the group of carol singers - which did contain children, always a risky move - crept past the door, peering briefly into the darkened room before establishing themselves somewhere down the hall.

“Remus?” Tonks asked, as the singing began again. “Do these coupons have an expiration date?”

“I don’t know, Tonks,” he replied slowly, over a yawn. “I hope not, love.”

Thrusting her arm out of the blankets, she waved it in the general direction of the chair, waiting until his hand found hers and held it.

“I love you, Remus Lupin,” she said, smiling. “Merry Christmas.”

His fingers stroked hers.

“Merry Christmas, Nymphadora.”

Tonks sat up.

“How many times… Honestly, Remus, we were having a moment there…”