How To Close A Love Letter: Part III
Title: How To Close A Love Letter
Author: scarlett71177
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: Goblet & ‘I am good-looking enough for the both of us, I theenk’ (they’re in there- somewhere)
Word Count: Part III: 4718 (8,934 total in 3 parts)
Summary: A correspondence brings Remus and Tonks closer. (Set after Chapter 29 of HBP.)
Author’s Notes: This is the second R/T piece I started- nearly two years ago. I just kept putting it aside to work on other pieces. I couldn’t have finished this without massive support, suggestions, and encouragement from margaret67 and thanks to shendricks2004 for the beta.
Remus hesitantly approached the mirror in the hall at number twelve Grimmauld Place and gazed, quite uncomfortably, at his own reflection.
He looked old; older than his years anyway. His brown hair was more than subtly greying, his eyes were red and baggy from lack of sleep, and his wardrobe was certainly not trendy, but there was a vague smile on his face and a warm glow spreading through him. The swell began in the centre of his chest, radiating outward like liquid heat, spreading through his limbs and running through his veins with each pump of his heart. Tonks didn’t care. She didn’t care if the hem of his trousers were frayed, or if his jumper was mended. She didn’t mind if his hair was grey or even that he was a…
He dared not to look too far ahead.
“Well don’t you look… handsome,” the mirror offered in a rare attempt at being complimentary. Remus watched the puzzled expression mar his reflection in the mirror and wondered if his attempt at trying to look laid back was too forced or unnatural? Tonks likes you for who you are, you stupid git he tried to rationalise, but he did not want to presume to speak for her.
“Go on, take a chance,” the mirror declared.
“Right… well- ” he stammered, brushing the lint off the shoulder of his faded blue sweater.
The clock in the hall played three-quarters of Westminster chimes, indicating it was time for Remus to leave. He looked at the mirror one final time, wondering what on earth he was doing wearing jeans (something he had not done for some time) and going out at 6:45 in the morning to meet Tonks for coffee.
Two things concerned him: he was afraid, if he stopped to think on it too long, that he would realise how exhausted he was and that, under normal conditions, he’d be waking at this hour (after a full night’s sleep!) and that only young people ‘went out for coffee,’ certainly not aging werewolves.
Maybe coffee wasn’t a good idea.
“I’m too old for this,” he lamented aloud. But at the very moment the words spilled from his lips, he could hear echoes of Sirius in the draughty old house.
“Moony, you’ve finally got up the nerve to date my cousin you’re going to stand her up because you hate your jeans and realised you aren’t cool? That’s total pants! I hope those jeans are comforting because you’ll need them when you’re a grumpy old crotch- all alone! You’ve never been cool- why’s today any different?”
Remus shook the thought from his head. He wanted this; he wanted an opportunity to tell Tonks just how he felt. He grasped the tarnished silver doorknob and opened the door to a new day.
Low stratus clouds were smudged across the sky like a child’s finger painting. Hints of grey, indigo, and green tainted the heavenly canvas, but Remus paid the dense haze little mind. His feet tread the familiar path to the café where he and Tonks would occasionally go last year to escape the humdrum life at number twelve. They felt guilty, leaving Sirius at home, but the conversations they shared at the café over cups of tea and scones were uplifting and the memory of them had helped Remus get through the year with Fenrir Greyback. The chats had been open and honest, friendly, and sometimes flirtatious, covering an abundance of topics.
But what would they say today? Would they spend their time in an awkward silence, staggering through a well-intended conversation with ‘erms’ and sighs? How would they broach the subject of their relationship anyway? It had been so easy to convey his thoughts and feelings in an intimate letter to Tonks- but finding the voice after a year’s separation was quite another matter.
Surely the topic of conversation would almost certainly turn to Hogwarts and Dumbledore.
Dumbledore.
Today the Wizarding world would be mourning the death of a great man; a man who changed lives… a man who changed his life by the simple act of believing and trusting in him. If Remus was honest, Dumbledore gave him two enormous and life altering chances. He gave Remus the opportunity to attend Hogwarts as a boy; that access made him the man he was today. How might his life have been different if he’d never forged that relationship with the Wizarding world, with James, Sirius, and Peter? Surely he would never have met Tonks. And Dumbledore had given him the opportunity to teach, to find a niche, to explore a craft. The opportunity had been priceless, a dream come true. Remus could never repay the man for the level of trust and belief Dumbledore had for him.
As Remus approached a red light at a pelican crossing he turned to look at the newsstand on the corner, vaguely wondering what news story concerned the Muggle world that day. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes wander across the papers, at the black ink staining the paper, bragging the day’s news.
House of Commons Votes for Total Ban on Hand Guns
Poor sods had no idea you could inflict as much damage with a silly piece of wood.
The light changed colours, prompting Remus to shuffle on behind the early morning commuters at a slower pace. The café was only a couple of blocks away. His pulse thundered in his ears at the thought of her. He wondered how she would regard him. Gone was the urgency, the desperation of last night when she’d grasped his collar, pulled him close and attempted to shake some sense into him. He’d written his letter with nearly that same anxiety, fearing he’d missed his last chance with her, but the tone of her letter had effectively taken that fear and squashed it with three simple words: I love you.
His toe caught on the sidewalk as he whispered the phrase aloud in practice. For so long he’d convinced himself that the words were forbidden, words she would never hear him proclaim, and he’d almost convinced himself of it too.
A familiar voice brought him out of his reverie.
“Oy, Professor! Wherever did you pinch those jeans?”
His head snapped up, glancing toward the café featured prominently on the corner.
Tonks was seated on one of the small round tables, sandaled feet resting on the empty chair across from her. A newspaper was spread across the wrought-iron table next to a glass goblet full of orange juice.
He felt a smile split his face as he drank in the sight of her. He hoped it conveyed how happy he was to see her sitting there. Relief spread through him- no more pretending, no more excuses, no more pretence.
Tonks pushed the chair out with the toe of her sandals before letting her feet fall to the ground. “Seriously, you didn’t find those jeans at number twelve, trust me, I ransacked that house for vintage clothing.”
She sat up straighter and folded up the newspaper as he approached. When he was close enough he could see it was the morning Prophet, and the headline splashed across the front was a grim reminder of the fatal incidents just last night. A picture of Dumbledore with a vague smile on his face graced the front page; Tonks turned the paper over so she would not have to see it.
“I nicked them from Sirius,” he said, noticing as he took the seat across from her that, although her hair was still brown, pink highlights had been morphed in, making his smile widen. “From back in the Hogwarts days- see, I told you I was old.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, seeming to catch a glimpse of one of the wavy pink curls framing her heart-shaped face. “I, erm, told you I’d be the girl with pink hair, but this was the best I could manage under the circumstances,” she offered, nodding down at the folded paper. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that yet again.”
The smile faded from Remus’ face. “Nor I.” He was glad she shared her feelings; the release of pressure threatening to cast a sense of melancholy on the day could be temporarily put aside. Clearly Tonks was mourning, the same as he was, but if anyone could understand the importance of the burgeoning discussion that was due to take place- it was Dumbledore.
Tonks simply nodded as the barista approached with a tray. “I ordered you a latte.”
And no doubt she paid for it, too. He forced himself to swallow the feelings of inadequacy- after all; it was only one cup of coffee, and how would they make progress if he couldn’t appreciate a favour?
The morning traffic echoed off the buildings surrounding the café, pigeons cooed, strutting around the patio, and a voice was screaming inside Remus’ head ‘Just tell her you love her, you git!’ Again, he was back to that daunting question- how did a bloke start a conversation that ended with the phrase ‘I’m sorry and I love you.’ He nervously took a sip of the aromatic beverage to stall for time.
They sat, staring at each other, for several awkward moments, neither obviously knowing what to say before Tonks let out a breath of nervous laughter and looked down, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. It was so curious seeing her now, smile fixed upon her heart-shaped face, with streaks of pink returned to the uncharacteristically mousy brown hair he was accustomed to seeing in his own reflection. Despite the recently returned glow that seemed to accompany her, he could still see the purple circles under her eyes and the way her T-shirt, once enticing tight-fitting, was slightly baggy now. It was a severe reminder of the effect of his selfish, yet noble intentions.
Finding the nerve to say… something, Remus spoke up- at the same time Tonks did.
“I- ”
“I- ”
“Sorry, you go first.”
“No, age before beauty.”
He watched Tonks press her lips together, attempting to hold back a smile, but failing miserably. After a snort of laughter burst out, Tonks finally spoke first.
“I’m sorry about last night, in the hospital wing. I didn’t intend to just blurt everything out like that.” Her eyes quickly darted up to appraise him before continuing. “Bill’s attack, Fleur’s yelling, Molly’s back pedalling, it just got to me, I guess, and it all culminated when Fleur said ‘I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk.’ I snapped. She’d have Bill no matter what- you and I are… were…”
He was smiling at the faux-French accent she was using, but the smile faded when he heard her begin to doubt his feelings for her. Though their status had changed, his feelings for her never would. He reached out, laying his hand on the wrought-iron table, palm up- worn and callused, exposed and open. He cared not that the metal was cold and damp against his skin; he was waiting for her to return the sentiment.
Her head lifted abruptly, dark eyes twinkling as she shyly reached out to take his hand. Fingers touched first, his curling around hers, helping their palms to settle against one another’s. Her skin, warm and smooth melted over his, sending radiating heat into his flesh. “Don’t apologise, please. I’m not sorry you did it; I think it finally shook some sense into me. If anyone here should be apologising- it should be me.”
She squeezed his hand and met his eyes earnestly. “I meant what I said in my letter. I don’t want or need apologies. I just want you.”
“But if I hadn’t spoken for you, if I hadn’t pretended to know what was best for you- ”
“Hold on a tic, what was that?” Tonks asked, arching an eyebrow, pressing the knuckles on her free hand to her mouth as she leaned in a little closer.
Remus dipped his head shamefully and missed the smile playing at the corners of Tonks’ mouth. “I shouldn’t have spoken for you; I shouldn’t have decided what was best for us without talking to you about it.”
“Well, now that we have that settled,” Tonks said in a teasing voice, a wide grin spreading across her face when Remus looked up. “Believe it or not I can decide what I want for myself. I won’t hear too old, too poor, too dangerous anymore. You aren’t too old, Remus, I’m an adult too. So what if there’s an age difference between us. How will that matter ten, twenty, or fifty years from now? And yes, I’ll grant you can be dangerous twelve nights a year, but if we’re smart and take the proper precautions there’s no reason to think you’ll hurt me or anyone else.” Her voice was softer now as she squeezed his hand reassuringly and refused to tear her gaze away from his. “As for a job, we can’t believe that such a prejudiced government will be around forever, we have to change their minds. But in the meantime, we’ll find something. And your work with the Order doesn’t allow for much free time anyhow. I should be lucky to spend any time with you at all.”
“I’ll make time,” he interrupted, taken by the sincerity of her words. She had effectively answered the argument he’d used for an entire year in just a few moments. And furthermore, she was right, and had done it without pity.
For a year he’d treated her like a child. Spoken for her? But sitting her with this beautiful woman here and now it seemed like he was the one acting childishly. She’d silenced him on the Lycanthropy issue and she said she’d stand by him by using one of the most glorious words he’d ever heard… We. It had been so long since he was part of a ‘we.’
He reached for the latte with his free hand, needing a moment to reflect. “But I wasted an entire year,” he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
“So we have a lot to make up for- coincidentally I have a lot of time. Coffee is a good start, don’t you think?” she asked, fighting a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
With a sympathetic smile, he scuffed the back of her other hand with his thumb and resisted the urge to mimic her action. He too was quite exhausted, it had been an emotionally and physically taxing twenty-four hours, but sitting here now, with Tonks, went a long way to heal the complex tangle of emotions Remus was feeling.
“I’m sorry if the Owl I sent last night woke you,” he offered, a hint of sympathy creeping into his raspy voice.
“No, stop saying you’re sorry you silly sod. I shan’t forget that letter for as long as I live. Blimey I think I read it about forty-two times before I replied. I was afraid I’d wake up from the gorgeous dream I was having.”
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a nervous sigh instead. A crimson blush tainted his cheeks. “I meant it, you know,” he began, sounding quite serious. “Every word.”
Remus had worried that discussing the matter would be awkward, detached sounding, and even tongue-tied, but here in the moment it seemed exciting, exhilarating, and full of promise. Despite a war going on, and inevitable death all around them, the possibility of love could be sustaining through the worst trials. His mind wandered, thinking of kissing her goodbye each morning and hello each evening. He’d dreamt of that every night he’d been with Greyback and the ferals, but now that it was so close, so within his reach, it was even more tempting.
“Me too,” Tonks finally said with a shy smile.
The waitress interrupted, asking if either wanted anything more, and it was then that Remus noted that the city had reached its morning rush peak. Not conversing for nearly a year gave them so much to talk about suddenly, and he did not wish to share his intimate feelings with all of London.
Remus stood abruptly, “Let’s walk and talk,” he said in a low voice, tugging her hand gently, beckoning her with a gentle smile.
“Is everything all right?” Her voice was trembling and full of apprehension.
“Just fine- I just- we have much to discuss and a crowded café is far too distracting.” He calmly took a sip of his coffee as he helped her gather her belongings and eventually lead her through the wrought iron tables polka-dotting the stone patio.
They set off down the pavement, battling the influx of morning commuters, fighting to walk side by side. He didn’t think about where he was leading her, just that he desperately wanted to be alone together. Dank, dim Grimmauld Place would not do- he wanted light and colour. After months of living apart he wanted to sit quietly and listen to her voice chatter on until she was hoarse; he wanted to make her smile, just to see the tiny lines and creases form around her eyes and hope her hair might change its hue.
They walked several blocks before Tonks interrupted.
“Oy, where we going then?” she asked with a laugh, reaching up to clasp his hand.
He was sure his face bore a bewildered expression. “No clue,” he said plainly, feeling rather foolish for hurrying off pell-mell.
“Remus Lupin doesn’t have a plan?” she asked, her eyebrows arching high, her thumb chafing his knuckles in a soothing manner. “Has the mysterious Marauder returned?” A hint of mischief was evident in her voice, and the idea that she could forgive him after everything was comforting- almost as if they were the old Remus and Tonks. He could not resist smiling down at her.
“My flat isn’t far from here, actually,” said Tonks, her eyes darting toward the pavement, the humour gone from her voice and replaced with a shyer, more intimate tone. “I mean, if you wanted to go somewhere quiet for another cuppa or something- and to talk, of course.”
He swallowed nervously, his stomach fluttering like he’d swallowed a golden snitch. His mouth went dry at the thought of visiting her flat, wondering how deliciously ‘her’ it would appear. “All right.”
Remus noted the relaxation in her expression as she slid her fingers through his and led them toward this new destination, a place he had never been before. Walking slightly behind her, letting her lead him, he noticed something sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans.
A letter.
His letter.
He felt his heart beat faster, the sensation of butterflies swarming around his insides had returned, and his palms itched with perspiration. His mind retreated to earlier that morning, sitting at an ornate wooden desk, penning the letter to Tonks. He’d told her the truth- how he felt about her, how long he’d loved her, but never found the courage to say the words.
She had borne her soul to him- to everyone. Remus could still vividly recall learning about the change in Tonks’ Patronus, the full significance of the situation weighing so heavily on his heart and mind. He’d wanted to come home, that day, and tell her that caring for him that deeply was foolish- but he knew it would have ended in another half-hearted rejection. He would have pushed her away, again, and then hated himself for it.
She had shared so much of herself without saying a word, it was only right for him to find the courage now. She needed to hear it- and he wanted to say it. Not because he wanted to appease her in some way, but because he felt that love to the depth of his soul, and he’d felt her love for him while they’d been in different places- both geographically and emotionally.
The time had come.
“There’s my flat,” she said suddenly, giving his hand a squeeze.
Before him a large building rose up from the street. It appeared to be an old, converted warehouse, but the trendy brickwork and wrought-iron fire escapes and balconies gave the building a more contemporary feel. It was nice, but well short of what she could afford.
“That’s mine,” she said, pointing at a window with orange curtains and stained glass sun-catchers dangling against the pane.
“It’s lovely, Tonks, but I have to tell you something,” he said, coming to stand in front of her, grasping both hands in his.
His appearance must have betrayed the intense emotion he felt because she was looking up at him with a worried expression pasted on her own face: a furrowed brow, glassy eyes, and lips pressed firmly together.
“Please don’t tell me you want out now.”
The slight tremble in her voice cut him to the quick. She doubted him, and maybe that was fair- maybe she would for some time, but he was committed to making up for it.
“No,” he replied, dropping her hand in favour of cupping her face instead. “Something else.” He softly grazed his thumb over her cheek and sought out the depth and warmth of her dark eyes. His breath was gone and he licked his lips as he listened to her ramble.
“I know I said I wanted to hear you say it, but if you’re not ready- it’s OK, we’re here and talking and making prog-”
He leaned in quickly, catching her lips by surprise. There was a sharp intake of breath and for the merest of moments she did not otherwise react. But suddenly her mouth stretched into a smile against his and he was overwhelmed with the sensation as her lips parted ever so slowly, persuading him for more. It did not take much coaxing before his tongue darted out and their mouths’ fused together.
“I love you,” he mumbled, not able to bear tearing his lips away from hers.
“What?” She fisted the front of his jumper, her nails barely scraping the skin beneath and pushed him gently away, his eyes opening- when had he shut them? to behold her.
She tried to bite back the smile that was etched across her face, but failed miserably, blinking back unshed tears and eventually letting out a breath of laughter. “Please, tell me again.”
Remus leaned in, as if to kiss her again, but paused, peering down at her through his eyelashes. Her skin was flushed and felt warm beneath his palms as he gently caressed the apples of her cheeks. He gently brushed the fringe off her forehead and tilted her face upward, her eyes so close he could see hope reflected in the variegating colours. He closed the distance between them, softly pressing his lips to hers. It was brief, but tender, and Remus did not care that he was standing on the sidewalk outside a flat in the heart of London, forcing busy commuters to walk around him. He was here. She was here. And he owed her one million declarations of love. “Nymphadora Tonks, I love you.”
She released his jumper, looping her arms behind his neck instead. “I love you too- and you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to say it.”
But what now? How did they move forward? What was she thinking?
“C’mon,” she whispered, a hand trailing down his arm, grasping his hand and leading him up the stairs.
He vaguely remembered riding the lift up to the eighth floor, he was happily distracted by the fact that her fingers were intertwined with his, and her head rested on his shoulder. Over the course of the last two years the temptation to be with her was strong, but not nearly as powerful as now.
His mind reeled with thoughts he could scarcely imagine coming true, and yet- here they were. He did not remember her leading him toward the door of her brightly decorated one-bedroom flat at the end of the hall. The Tonks he’d helped create last year would seem so out of place in the bohemian décor, but he concluded that the room suited a girl with pink hair and twinkling eyes.
“Make yourself at home,” she offered, tossing the Prophet down on a table near the door while she kicked her sandals into a pile of shoes behind the door.
Home. He didn’t have to try to imagine coming home to her every night, to find her waiting for him, or for him to stay up nights waiting for her. But he was letting his imagination run away with itself, they’d only just started speaking again and there was still much to discuss.
He took a seat on the settee, balling his hands in his lap before smoothing them over his thighs in a nervous gesture. For a moment he couldn’t believe he’d mucked up his life quite so badly as to have rejected this, rejected her. She’d never asked for anything more than he had to give, had never judged or pitied him, and perhaps she understood him more than anyone ever had.
She took the seat next to him and leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder once more. “I’m not pushing you, am I? I mean I’m not trying to.”
“No,” he replied in an amused voice. If he were honest with himself he probably wouldn’t resist her if she did push. Though he could imagine them together, for a very long time, he didn’t want them to rush into something expected of them. He wanted them to discover one another all over again. “I’m not pushing you, am I?” he asked, pulling Tonks onto his lap.
“No,” Tonks replied, smiling brightly. “Can I say something?” she asked, burrowing herself a little more intimately against his body.
“You just did.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she turned and rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers playing with a loose thread on his blue jumper. .
“I couldn’t resist. It has been quite a long time.” He gently wrapped an arm around her and smiled as he placed his hand over hers, stalling her fingers, then resting their hands over his beating heart.
“Let’s stay here all day,” she began with a sigh. “Just me and you. We can talk and order take away- right after a kip.”
At the mere mention of a nap Remus fought off the urge to yawn and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, taking a deep breath, inhaling the calming fragrance of lavender. He marvelled at the idea that two lives could change so much in such a short time. Last night he was miserable and alone, and now- now he had such a deep and abiding level of hope, even in the face of this awful war and the death they’d experienced yesterday that life could go on, more then phoenixes could rise from their ashes.
And it all began with a letter.
“You’re right, you know,” he whispered, slouching against the arm of the sofa, curling a lock of pink-highlighted hair through his finger, “what you said in your letter. Love isn’t easy or convenient, and it doesn’t go away. I’ve loved you for so long, but maybe I was too afraid to admit that you could love me.”
“So that’s twice today I’ve been right and blimey, it’s only… half eight.”
He gave her hair a gentle tug, causing her to laugh. “Just teasing, Professor. Let’s not worry about tomorrow, or next week, or next year, let’s just love each other and take things one day at a time. I meant how I closed my letter. I give you all my love.”
Remus closed his eyes and let out a breath. Despite Tonks resting comfortably against his chest, he felt the pressure that had constricted his heart for the last year evaporate. She meant what she said. She did love him. She could love him that much.
“Me too,” he replied. “I’m yours.”
Author: scarlett71177
Rating & Warnings: PG
Prompts: Goblet & ‘I am good-looking enough for the both of us, I theenk’ (they’re in there- somewhere)
Word Count: Part III: 4718 (8,934 total in 3 parts)
Summary: A correspondence brings Remus and Tonks closer. (Set after Chapter 29 of HBP.)
Author’s Notes: This is the second R/T piece I started- nearly two years ago. I just kept putting it aside to work on other pieces. I couldn’t have finished this without massive support, suggestions, and encouragement from margaret67 and thanks to shendricks2004 for the beta.
Remus hesitantly approached the mirror in the hall at number twelve Grimmauld Place and gazed, quite uncomfortably, at his own reflection.
He looked old; older than his years anyway. His brown hair was more than subtly greying, his eyes were red and baggy from lack of sleep, and his wardrobe was certainly not trendy, but there was a vague smile on his face and a warm glow spreading through him. The swell began in the centre of his chest, radiating outward like liquid heat, spreading through his limbs and running through his veins with each pump of his heart. Tonks didn’t care. She didn’t care if the hem of his trousers were frayed, or if his jumper was mended. She didn’t mind if his hair was grey or even that he was a…
He dared not to look too far ahead.
“Well don’t you look… handsome,” the mirror offered in a rare attempt at being complimentary. Remus watched the puzzled expression mar his reflection in the mirror and wondered if his attempt at trying to look laid back was too forced or unnatural? Tonks likes you for who you are, you stupid git he tried to rationalise, but he did not want to presume to speak for her.
“Go on, take a chance,” the mirror declared.
“Right… well- ” he stammered, brushing the lint off the shoulder of his faded blue sweater.
The clock in the hall played three-quarters of Westminster chimes, indicating it was time for Remus to leave. He looked at the mirror one final time, wondering what on earth he was doing wearing jeans (something he had not done for some time) and going out at 6:45 in the morning to meet Tonks for coffee.
Two things concerned him: he was afraid, if he stopped to think on it too long, that he would realise how exhausted he was and that, under normal conditions, he’d be waking at this hour (after a full night’s sleep!) and that only young people ‘went out for coffee,’ certainly not aging werewolves.
Maybe coffee wasn’t a good idea.
“I’m too old for this,” he lamented aloud. But at the very moment the words spilled from his lips, he could hear echoes of Sirius in the draughty old house.
“Moony, you’ve finally got up the nerve to date my cousin you’re going to stand her up because you hate your jeans and realised you aren’t cool? That’s total pants! I hope those jeans are comforting because you’ll need them when you’re a grumpy old crotch- all alone! You’ve never been cool- why’s today any different?”
Remus shook the thought from his head. He wanted this; he wanted an opportunity to tell Tonks just how he felt. He grasped the tarnished silver doorknob and opened the door to a new day.
Low stratus clouds were smudged across the sky like a child’s finger painting. Hints of grey, indigo, and green tainted the heavenly canvas, but Remus paid the dense haze little mind. His feet tread the familiar path to the café where he and Tonks would occasionally go last year to escape the humdrum life at number twelve. They felt guilty, leaving Sirius at home, but the conversations they shared at the café over cups of tea and scones were uplifting and the memory of them had helped Remus get through the year with Fenrir Greyback. The chats had been open and honest, friendly, and sometimes flirtatious, covering an abundance of topics.
But what would they say today? Would they spend their time in an awkward silence, staggering through a well-intended conversation with ‘erms’ and sighs? How would they broach the subject of their relationship anyway? It had been so easy to convey his thoughts and feelings in an intimate letter to Tonks- but finding the voice after a year’s separation was quite another matter.
Surely the topic of conversation would almost certainly turn to Hogwarts and Dumbledore.
Dumbledore.
Today the Wizarding world would be mourning the death of a great man; a man who changed lives… a man who changed his life by the simple act of believing and trusting in him. If Remus was honest, Dumbledore gave him two enormous and life altering chances. He gave Remus the opportunity to attend Hogwarts as a boy; that access made him the man he was today. How might his life have been different if he’d never forged that relationship with the Wizarding world, with James, Sirius, and Peter? Surely he would never have met Tonks. And Dumbledore had given him the opportunity to teach, to find a niche, to explore a craft. The opportunity had been priceless, a dream come true. Remus could never repay the man for the level of trust and belief Dumbledore had for him.
As Remus approached a red light at a pelican crossing he turned to look at the newsstand on the corner, vaguely wondering what news story concerned the Muggle world that day. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his eyes wander across the papers, at the black ink staining the paper, bragging the day’s news.
House of Commons Votes for Total Ban on Hand Guns
Poor sods had no idea you could inflict as much damage with a silly piece of wood.
The light changed colours, prompting Remus to shuffle on behind the early morning commuters at a slower pace. The café was only a couple of blocks away. His pulse thundered in his ears at the thought of her. He wondered how she would regard him. Gone was the urgency, the desperation of last night when she’d grasped his collar, pulled him close and attempted to shake some sense into him. He’d written his letter with nearly that same anxiety, fearing he’d missed his last chance with her, but the tone of her letter had effectively taken that fear and squashed it with three simple words: I love you.
His toe caught on the sidewalk as he whispered the phrase aloud in practice. For so long he’d convinced himself that the words were forbidden, words she would never hear him proclaim, and he’d almost convinced himself of it too.
A familiar voice brought him out of his reverie.
“Oy, Professor! Wherever did you pinch those jeans?”
His head snapped up, glancing toward the café featured prominently on the corner.
Tonks was seated on one of the small round tables, sandaled feet resting on the empty chair across from her. A newspaper was spread across the wrought-iron table next to a glass goblet full of orange juice.
He felt a smile split his face as he drank in the sight of her. He hoped it conveyed how happy he was to see her sitting there. Relief spread through him- no more pretending, no more excuses, no more pretence.
Tonks pushed the chair out with the toe of her sandals before letting her feet fall to the ground. “Seriously, you didn’t find those jeans at number twelve, trust me, I ransacked that house for vintage clothing.”
She sat up straighter and folded up the newspaper as he approached. When he was close enough he could see it was the morning Prophet, and the headline splashed across the front was a grim reminder of the fatal incidents just last night. A picture of Dumbledore with a vague smile on his face graced the front page; Tonks turned the paper over so she would not have to see it.
“I nicked them from Sirius,” he said, noticing as he took the seat across from her that, although her hair was still brown, pink highlights had been morphed in, making his smile widen. “From back in the Hogwarts days- see, I told you I was old.”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, seeming to catch a glimpse of one of the wavy pink curls framing her heart-shaped face. “I, erm, told you I’d be the girl with pink hair, but this was the best I could manage under the circumstances,” she offered, nodding down at the folded paper. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that yet again.”
The smile faded from Remus’ face. “Nor I.” He was glad she shared her feelings; the release of pressure threatening to cast a sense of melancholy on the day could be temporarily put aside. Clearly Tonks was mourning, the same as he was, but if anyone could understand the importance of the burgeoning discussion that was due to take place- it was Dumbledore.
Tonks simply nodded as the barista approached with a tray. “I ordered you a latte.”
And no doubt she paid for it, too. He forced himself to swallow the feelings of inadequacy- after all; it was only one cup of coffee, and how would they make progress if he couldn’t appreciate a favour?
The morning traffic echoed off the buildings surrounding the café, pigeons cooed, strutting around the patio, and a voice was screaming inside Remus’ head ‘Just tell her you love her, you git!’ Again, he was back to that daunting question- how did a bloke start a conversation that ended with the phrase ‘I’m sorry and I love you.’ He nervously took a sip of the aromatic beverage to stall for time.
They sat, staring at each other, for several awkward moments, neither obviously knowing what to say before Tonks let out a breath of nervous laughter and looked down, sweeping a lock of hair behind her ear. It was so curious seeing her now, smile fixed upon her heart-shaped face, with streaks of pink returned to the uncharacteristically mousy brown hair he was accustomed to seeing in his own reflection. Despite the recently returned glow that seemed to accompany her, he could still see the purple circles under her eyes and the way her T-shirt, once enticing tight-fitting, was slightly baggy now. It was a severe reminder of the effect of his selfish, yet noble intentions.
Finding the nerve to say… something, Remus spoke up- at the same time Tonks did.
“I- ”
“I- ”
“Sorry, you go first.”
“No, age before beauty.”
He watched Tonks press her lips together, attempting to hold back a smile, but failing miserably. After a snort of laughter burst out, Tonks finally spoke first.
“I’m sorry about last night, in the hospital wing. I didn’t intend to just blurt everything out like that.” Her eyes quickly darted up to appraise him before continuing. “Bill’s attack, Fleur’s yelling, Molly’s back pedalling, it just got to me, I guess, and it all culminated when Fleur said ‘I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk.’ I snapped. She’d have Bill no matter what- you and I are… were…”
He was smiling at the faux-French accent she was using, but the smile faded when he heard her begin to doubt his feelings for her. Though their status had changed, his feelings for her never would. He reached out, laying his hand on the wrought-iron table, palm up- worn and callused, exposed and open. He cared not that the metal was cold and damp against his skin; he was waiting for her to return the sentiment.
Her head lifted abruptly, dark eyes twinkling as she shyly reached out to take his hand. Fingers touched first, his curling around hers, helping their palms to settle against one another’s. Her skin, warm and smooth melted over his, sending radiating heat into his flesh. “Don’t apologise, please. I’m not sorry you did it; I think it finally shook some sense into me. If anyone here should be apologising- it should be me.”
She squeezed his hand and met his eyes earnestly. “I meant what I said in my letter. I don’t want or need apologies. I just want you.”
“But if I hadn’t spoken for you, if I hadn’t pretended to know what was best for you- ”
“Hold on a tic, what was that?” Tonks asked, arching an eyebrow, pressing the knuckles on her free hand to her mouth as she leaned in a little closer.
Remus dipped his head shamefully and missed the smile playing at the corners of Tonks’ mouth. “I shouldn’t have spoken for you; I shouldn’t have decided what was best for us without talking to you about it.”
“Well, now that we have that settled,” Tonks said in a teasing voice, a wide grin spreading across her face when Remus looked up. “Believe it or not I can decide what I want for myself. I won’t hear too old, too poor, too dangerous anymore. You aren’t too old, Remus, I’m an adult too. So what if there’s an age difference between us. How will that matter ten, twenty, or fifty years from now? And yes, I’ll grant you can be dangerous twelve nights a year, but if we’re smart and take the proper precautions there’s no reason to think you’ll hurt me or anyone else.” Her voice was softer now as she squeezed his hand reassuringly and refused to tear her gaze away from his. “As for a job, we can’t believe that such a prejudiced government will be around forever, we have to change their minds. But in the meantime, we’ll find something. And your work with the Order doesn’t allow for much free time anyhow. I should be lucky to spend any time with you at all.”
“I’ll make time,” he interrupted, taken by the sincerity of her words. She had effectively answered the argument he’d used for an entire year in just a few moments. And furthermore, she was right, and had done it without pity.
For a year he’d treated her like a child. Spoken for her? But sitting her with this beautiful woman here and now it seemed like he was the one acting childishly. She’d silenced him on the Lycanthropy issue and she said she’d stand by him by using one of the most glorious words he’d ever heard… We. It had been so long since he was part of a ‘we.’
He reached for the latte with his free hand, needing a moment to reflect. “But I wasted an entire year,” he said with a heavy sigh, shaking his head.
“So we have a lot to make up for- coincidentally I have a lot of time. Coffee is a good start, don’t you think?” she asked, fighting a yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
With a sympathetic smile, he scuffed the back of her other hand with his thumb and resisted the urge to mimic her action. He too was quite exhausted, it had been an emotionally and physically taxing twenty-four hours, but sitting here now, with Tonks, went a long way to heal the complex tangle of emotions Remus was feeling.
“I’m sorry if the Owl I sent last night woke you,” he offered, a hint of sympathy creeping into his raspy voice.
“No, stop saying you’re sorry you silly sod. I shan’t forget that letter for as long as I live. Blimey I think I read it about forty-two times before I replied. I was afraid I’d wake up from the gorgeous dream I was having.”
He tried to laugh, but it came out as a nervous sigh instead. A crimson blush tainted his cheeks. “I meant it, you know,” he began, sounding quite serious. “Every word.”
Remus had worried that discussing the matter would be awkward, detached sounding, and even tongue-tied, but here in the moment it seemed exciting, exhilarating, and full of promise. Despite a war going on, and inevitable death all around them, the possibility of love could be sustaining through the worst trials. His mind wandered, thinking of kissing her goodbye each morning and hello each evening. He’d dreamt of that every night he’d been with Greyback and the ferals, but now that it was so close, so within his reach, it was even more tempting.
“Me too,” Tonks finally said with a shy smile.
The waitress interrupted, asking if either wanted anything more, and it was then that Remus noted that the city had reached its morning rush peak. Not conversing for nearly a year gave them so much to talk about suddenly, and he did not wish to share his intimate feelings with all of London.
Remus stood abruptly, “Let’s walk and talk,” he said in a low voice, tugging her hand gently, beckoning her with a gentle smile.
“Is everything all right?” Her voice was trembling and full of apprehension.
“Just fine- I just- we have much to discuss and a crowded café is far too distracting.” He calmly took a sip of his coffee as he helped her gather her belongings and eventually lead her through the wrought iron tables polka-dotting the stone patio.
They set off down the pavement, battling the influx of morning commuters, fighting to walk side by side. He didn’t think about where he was leading her, just that he desperately wanted to be alone together. Dank, dim Grimmauld Place would not do- he wanted light and colour. After months of living apart he wanted to sit quietly and listen to her voice chatter on until she was hoarse; he wanted to make her smile, just to see the tiny lines and creases form around her eyes and hope her hair might change its hue.
They walked several blocks before Tonks interrupted.
“Oy, where we going then?” she asked with a laugh, reaching up to clasp his hand.
He was sure his face bore a bewildered expression. “No clue,” he said plainly, feeling rather foolish for hurrying off pell-mell.
“Remus Lupin doesn’t have a plan?” she asked, her eyebrows arching high, her thumb chafing his knuckles in a soothing manner. “Has the mysterious Marauder returned?” A hint of mischief was evident in her voice, and the idea that she could forgive him after everything was comforting- almost as if they were the old Remus and Tonks. He could not resist smiling down at her.
“My flat isn’t far from here, actually,” said Tonks, her eyes darting toward the pavement, the humour gone from her voice and replaced with a shyer, more intimate tone. “I mean, if you wanted to go somewhere quiet for another cuppa or something- and to talk, of course.”
He swallowed nervously, his stomach fluttering like he’d swallowed a golden snitch. His mouth went dry at the thought of visiting her flat, wondering how deliciously ‘her’ it would appear. “All right.”
Remus noted the relaxation in her expression as she slid her fingers through his and led them toward this new destination, a place he had never been before. Walking slightly behind her, letting her lead him, he noticed something sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans.
A letter.
His letter.
He felt his heart beat faster, the sensation of butterflies swarming around his insides had returned, and his palms itched with perspiration. His mind retreated to earlier that morning, sitting at an ornate wooden desk, penning the letter to Tonks. He’d told her the truth- how he felt about her, how long he’d loved her, but never found the courage to say the words.
She had borne her soul to him- to everyone. Remus could still vividly recall learning about the change in Tonks’ Patronus, the full significance of the situation weighing so heavily on his heart and mind. He’d wanted to come home, that day, and tell her that caring for him that deeply was foolish- but he knew it would have ended in another half-hearted rejection. He would have pushed her away, again, and then hated himself for it.
She had shared so much of herself without saying a word, it was only right for him to find the courage now. She needed to hear it- and he wanted to say it. Not because he wanted to appease her in some way, but because he felt that love to the depth of his soul, and he’d felt her love for him while they’d been in different places- both geographically and emotionally.
The time had come.
“There’s my flat,” she said suddenly, giving his hand a squeeze.
Before him a large building rose up from the street. It appeared to be an old, converted warehouse, but the trendy brickwork and wrought-iron fire escapes and balconies gave the building a more contemporary feel. It was nice, but well short of what she could afford.
“That’s mine,” she said, pointing at a window with orange curtains and stained glass sun-catchers dangling against the pane.
“It’s lovely, Tonks, but I have to tell you something,” he said, coming to stand in front of her, grasping both hands in his.
His appearance must have betrayed the intense emotion he felt because she was looking up at him with a worried expression pasted on her own face: a furrowed brow, glassy eyes, and lips pressed firmly together.
“Please don’t tell me you want out now.”
The slight tremble in her voice cut him to the quick. She doubted him, and maybe that was fair- maybe she would for some time, but he was committed to making up for it.
“No,” he replied, dropping her hand in favour of cupping her face instead. “Something else.” He softly grazed his thumb over her cheek and sought out the depth and warmth of her dark eyes. His breath was gone and he licked his lips as he listened to her ramble.
“I know I said I wanted to hear you say it, but if you’re not ready- it’s OK, we’re here and talking and making prog-”
He leaned in quickly, catching her lips by surprise. There was a sharp intake of breath and for the merest of moments she did not otherwise react. But suddenly her mouth stretched into a smile against his and he was overwhelmed with the sensation as her lips parted ever so slowly, persuading him for more. It did not take much coaxing before his tongue darted out and their mouths’ fused together.
“I love you,” he mumbled, not able to bear tearing his lips away from hers.
“What?” She fisted the front of his jumper, her nails barely scraping the skin beneath and pushed him gently away, his eyes opening- when had he shut them? to behold her.
She tried to bite back the smile that was etched across her face, but failed miserably, blinking back unshed tears and eventually letting out a breath of laughter. “Please, tell me again.”
Remus leaned in, as if to kiss her again, but paused, peering down at her through his eyelashes. Her skin was flushed and felt warm beneath his palms as he gently caressed the apples of her cheeks. He gently brushed the fringe off her forehead and tilted her face upward, her eyes so close he could see hope reflected in the variegating colours. He closed the distance between them, softly pressing his lips to hers. It was brief, but tender, and Remus did not care that he was standing on the sidewalk outside a flat in the heart of London, forcing busy commuters to walk around him. He was here. She was here. And he owed her one million declarations of love. “Nymphadora Tonks, I love you.”
She released his jumper, looping her arms behind his neck instead. “I love you too- and you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to say it.”
But what now? How did they move forward? What was she thinking?
“C’mon,” she whispered, a hand trailing down his arm, grasping his hand and leading him up the stairs.
He vaguely remembered riding the lift up to the eighth floor, he was happily distracted by the fact that her fingers were intertwined with his, and her head rested on his shoulder. Over the course of the last two years the temptation to be with her was strong, but not nearly as powerful as now.
His mind reeled with thoughts he could scarcely imagine coming true, and yet- here they were. He did not remember her leading him toward the door of her brightly decorated one-bedroom flat at the end of the hall. The Tonks he’d helped create last year would seem so out of place in the bohemian décor, but he concluded that the room suited a girl with pink hair and twinkling eyes.
“Make yourself at home,” she offered, tossing the Prophet down on a table near the door while she kicked her sandals into a pile of shoes behind the door.
Home. He didn’t have to try to imagine coming home to her every night, to find her waiting for him, or for him to stay up nights waiting for her. But he was letting his imagination run away with itself, they’d only just started speaking again and there was still much to discuss.
He took a seat on the settee, balling his hands in his lap before smoothing them over his thighs in a nervous gesture. For a moment he couldn’t believe he’d mucked up his life quite so badly as to have rejected this, rejected her. She’d never asked for anything more than he had to give, had never judged or pitied him, and perhaps she understood him more than anyone ever had.
She took the seat next to him and leaned back, resting her head on his shoulder once more. “I’m not pushing you, am I? I mean I’m not trying to.”
“No,” he replied in an amused voice. If he were honest with himself he probably wouldn’t resist her if she did push. Though he could imagine them together, for a very long time, he didn’t want them to rush into something expected of them. He wanted them to discover one another all over again. “I’m not pushing you, am I?” he asked, pulling Tonks onto his lap.
“No,” Tonks replied, smiling brightly. “Can I say something?” she asked, burrowing herself a little more intimately against his body.
“You just did.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she turned and rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers playing with a loose thread on his blue jumper. .
“I couldn’t resist. It has been quite a long time.” He gently wrapped an arm around her and smiled as he placed his hand over hers, stalling her fingers, then resting their hands over his beating heart.
“Let’s stay here all day,” she began with a sigh. “Just me and you. We can talk and order take away- right after a kip.”
At the mere mention of a nap Remus fought off the urge to yawn and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, taking a deep breath, inhaling the calming fragrance of lavender. He marvelled at the idea that two lives could change so much in such a short time. Last night he was miserable and alone, and now- now he had such a deep and abiding level of hope, even in the face of this awful war and the death they’d experienced yesterday that life could go on, more then phoenixes could rise from their ashes.
And it all began with a letter.
“You’re right, you know,” he whispered, slouching against the arm of the sofa, curling a lock of pink-highlighted hair through his finger, “what you said in your letter. Love isn’t easy or convenient, and it doesn’t go away. I’ve loved you for so long, but maybe I was too afraid to admit that you could love me.”
“So that’s twice today I’ve been right and blimey, it’s only… half eight.”
He gave her hair a gentle tug, causing her to laugh. “Just teasing, Professor. Let’s not worry about tomorrow, or next week, or next year, let’s just love each other and take things one day at a time. I meant how I closed my letter. I give you all my love.”
Remus closed his eyes and let out a breath. Despite Tonks resting comfortably against his chest, he felt the pressure that had constricted his heart for the last year evaporate. She meant what she said. She did love him. She could love him that much.
“Me too,” he replied. “I’m yours.”