From the Ashes

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            THE INSTANT THE soft knock sounded on the door frame, Remus knew, without turning around, who stood there. He flushed a little, being still rather embarrassed after their row in front of everyone earlier that evening, but dutifully he turned around.

            Tonks was no longer at the door, having invited herself in without waiting for his response, as seemed to be her way. In everything, Remus thought wryly and a little ruefully, thinking of the forward and occasionally brash witch who had invited herself into his life back in the early days of the war.

            He realized Tonks was looking at the book in his hand with one skeptical eyebrow raised. He shrugged. She knew immediately, as she so often did, what he was doing, that he’d pulled out a book in an attempt to fool any who might check in on him into thinking that he was in the abandoned Hogwarts classroom reading, not slumped in a chair, staring into the darkness outside and asking it silently if this time it had finally won.

            Although he didn’t particularly want visitors at present, he could not deny Tonks–in this, at least–so he motioned to a chair beside him. She ignored this completely and seated herself carefully next to him on the dusty loveseat he’d pulled to face the windows. He stiffened as he felt her so near, having trained himself for the past year and more not to get too close to her. Not seeing or not caring about his discomfort, she leaned back into the worn chair and sighed a little.

            “How are you?” he asked timidly. She looked very small just then, and he couldn’t help worrying about her.

            She gave a small smile. “Better than some. Worse than others.” She paused, staring at something known only to her. “Poor Harry,” she said softly. “Alone again.”

            Remus found himself thinking of the past year, the time he’d spent among the werewolves. He’d really meant to get closer to Harry after Sirius died; it seemed right, considering James and now Sirius were unable to be with the boy they’d both called their son. He’d hoped to be able to offer some comfort to the boy, but then the assignment came from Dumbledore to go among the werewolves, and he’d never considered disobeying the headmaster.

            Ah, there it was, the thought he could not resist returning to: Dumbledore. Remus felt his heart constrict at the thought the headmaster, and he struggled not to bow his head in sorrow.

            “I never really believed he could die,” Tonks said suddenly, as though feeling Remus’ pain in her own chest. “You know, his whole thing with phoenixes–Fawkes, the Order of the Phoenix–I always assumed, in some way in the back of my mind, that if he ever died he’d just . . . I don’t know, burst into flames and come back to life. It’s stupid, I know.”

            Remus smiled a little. He supposed he’d always felt the same, in his own way. It wasn’t true, though. Dumbledore had been very human, very fallible, as it turned out. He felt a hot rush of anger course through his body, something that the normally mild-tempered man didn’t usually feel, unless of course he was cursing his lycanthropy. Wherever you are, Snape, he thought piercingly into the night, we’re going to find you.

            There was silence a few moments longer, then Tonks spoke up in a voice smaller and more timid than he’d ever heard from her. “I’m scared, Remus,” she said. “Dumbledore was our last best chance. I never really believed we could lose the war with him around. I mean, of course we’ve got Harry now, and I know he’s going to give everything he’s got to try to kill You-Know-Who, but . . . Dumbledore was the smart one. He was the strategist, the one who always knew what to do. Who’s going to lead the Order? Who’s going to tell us what we need to do?” She covered her face with her hands. “They say You-Know-Who was only ever afraid of Dumbledore. With him gone, I’m afraid of what the dark side is going to do.”

            Remus turned to her in surprise. Tonks, scared? He’d never seen her quite like this before. She’d always seemed so confident, the way she never cared about the dangers she faced at work or in the Order, the way she could make anyone laugh, the way she’d looked so purposefully at him as she marched into the kitchen of the Burrow to inform him she was in love with him. The memory of that night, which now felt like it had been lifetimes ago, swept over him, and he found himself repressing a shiver.

            It had been after that night that Tonks had stopped using her Metamorphmagus powers. By all reports, she hadn’t changed once since then, even to transform her hair into her beloved bubblegum pink. She was grieving, Remus knew, for her dead cousin, and for the man who had shook his head at her that night at the Burrow and walked away.

            He stole a glance at the young woman sitting next to him now. She was hunched over a little, staring out the window, and he wanted nothing so much as to put his arms around her and draw her near, to wipe away her tears of fear and sorrow and assure her that with him, at least, she would always be safe and loved. That was what she’d wanted, of course. Remus knew her well, and she was a person who communicated her feelings through touch. All she wanted now was for the man she loved to touch her, to give her some sign she wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t. That was a path he’d decided long ago he couldn’t take.

            It hurt, to see her in pain and not be sure how to comfort her. He stared out the window and cursed, for what seemed like the millionth time, the beast–he refused to call Greyback a man–who had taken away his life and given him this half-existence. After seeing what Greyback was capable of this past year, which horror was added onto Remus’ lifetime of pain and self-loathing, he found he wanted, with an intensity that startled him, to see the werewolf dead. With one single bite, how much suffering had he caused? He had ruined the lives of Remus and his parents. He had ruined part of Sirius’ life, at least, because if Remus hadn’t turned into a werewolf the night they’d captured Peter Pettigrew, the rat wouldn’t have gotten away and Sirius would have been a free man. And finally, the bite, and the threat of the disease it caused, had forced Remus to do the hardest thing he’d ever had to do: to stand across from the woman he loved–yes, indeed, loved so desperately he ached for it–and listen to her say those words that he’d wanted to hear for so long, those words that were supposed to be the best part of anyone’s life, and then to refuse her, forcing his face to remain impassive, not giving away the turmoil inside, because he was sure Tonks would never have left him alone had she thought there was any hope.

            The bite truly was the cruelest thing that had ever happened to him. Without the help of many extraordinary people, Remus was quite sure he would have taken his own life long ago. A thought rose into his mind, unbidden, a memory of the day he got the letter from Hogwarts. Tears started to his eyes as he remembered reading for the first time the name of the man who would become his protector, his ally: Albus Dumbledore.

            “Without Dumbledore, I would have had nothing,” Remus said suddenly, breaking the long silence that had stretched between them. “No schooling or magical training, no place in the Order, no friends. I would have been completely alone right now. I probably would have joined that group I was with all year, fighting for Voldemort, hating all the–the normal people.” He was a little surprised at himself for saying that. Normally he tried not to be resentful about his lycanthropy–at least, not out loud. He looked at Tonks, wondering if she’d picked up on the bitterness of his tone.

            She was still hunched over, her face in her hands. Without turning toward him, she opened her hands slightly to say, in a hard, very un-Tonkslike tone, “You are alone, Remus. Not because of some disease–people live with diseases, and they deal fine–but because you choose to be.”

            Remus opened his mouth in shock. “This is not just any disease,” he spluttered.

            Tonks dropped her hands and sat up to look him in the face. There was strength and conviction there, but behind it was a weariness he had often seen when he looked in the mirror. “And you’re not just any person. You are the strongest, most amazing man I know. You have dealt with this as few other people have been able to, and you have been able to stay more kind and caring than most people will ever be in their easy, comfortable lives. But you decided a long time ago that you didn’t want to deal with the pain of fear and rejection anymore, that it was much easier to believe what stupid, selfish people said, that you were no more than an animal. So you live alone and keep everyone you profess to care about at arm’s length and tell yourself all the while that it’s all right, because despite what we all say, no one really loves you, because you’re a worthless animal.” Shocked, Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Tonks beat him to the punch. “Do you honestly think Dumbledore would have spent so much time and effort with you, getting you through school and giving you a job and a place in the Order, if he thought you were just some wild dog he was training up for the house? Don’t you think he loved you, and he knew you were capable of loving back? Of loving all of us?” Her energy suddenly seemed spent, and she leaned back and closed her eyes, looking unhappy. Her last unspoken sentence hung in the air. Don’t you think you could love me?

            Remus swallowed hard. She had pegged him. She had discerned those feelings he’d never spoken to anyone, never really even confronted himself. He found himself cursing his lycanthropy again. Here he was, sitting next to the perfect woman, one who was beautiful and clever and who understood him perfectly, one who loved him, and yet his fear of what his disease could do to her held him back.

            As though knowing his thoughts, she turned to him, looking quietly defeated. “I’m sorry to have burst out at you like that. I just get so frustrated with you, Remus. You have so much you could do with your life, so much I want you to do with your life, so you can be happy. But you never do. You believe it’s impossible so you refuse to make even the slightest attempt at happiness. It hurts to see that.” She leaned back again, closing her eyes, and Remus thought she might not speak again. She did. “I still love you,” she said softly and slowly. “And I’ll tell you for the million and first time, I don’t care if you’re old, or poor, or dangerous. We could make it work. I could learn to brew your Wolfsbane potion. We could do this.”

            She sat up and sighed. “I think we’re all going to need cause to be happy in the coming months.” She turned to him. “I could be that for you. I want to make you happy.” She reached out to stroke his face tenderly. “There are so many shadows on your face, so much fear in your eyes. I’ve known since I met you that I wanted to be the one to give you reason to smile.”

            He froze under her touch, feeling his resolve weakening from her tender caress and loving words. Quickly he took her arm and pulled her hand away from his face. “I’m only thinking of you,” he said.

            Her face was resigned. “Yeah, you keep saying that,” she said, standing from the loveseat. “But if that were true, you’d think you’d listen to me when I try to talk to you.” She shot him one last look then disappeared from his view as she walked to the door behind them.

            Remus didn’t hear her shut the door, caught up in himself as he suddenly was. The finality of that look had set him off, and he felt his heart aching for Tonks and for Dumbledore, both lost to him. The pain in his chest and his self-deprecating thoughts swirled together until they formed a song, a sad, beautiful song he recognized as Fawkes’ lament. He thought of Dumbledore, then, and McGonagall’s words: “Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world.” And as he thought of Dumbledore, he thought that maybe Tonks had been right, maybe Dumbledore had taken care of him as he had because he believed that even a werewolf deserved some happiness in life.

            This was a new thought to him, and as it swept over him, he turned around suddenly, looking at the door through which she’d left. Dumbledore was lost to him, but Tonks was not. She was alive, and they both had a chance for happiness, for something to brighten the coming time of war. Rising from his chair, forcing himself not to think about it–for if he thought, he would surely think himself out of it–he pelted out of the room.

            The long corridor was empty save for Mrs. Weasley. “Have you seen Nymphadora?” he asked her breathlessly.

            “I believe she has guard duty out by the greenhouses,” Mrs. Weasley said. Remus thanked her and ran toward the stairs, and was gone too quickly to see the smile that crossed Molly’s face.

            Tonks was indeed standing outside near the greenhouses, some distance from two burly men Remus vaguely recognized as Aurors. They turned on him immediately, wands raised, when he came pelting toward them, but one apparently recogized him and lowered his wand, motioning for the other to do the same. He did nothing but nod to them as he ran by, heading for where Tonks stood. The grounds were only lit by moonlight and starshine, but he would recognize her anywhere.

            “Nymphadora!” he called, figuring it would tip her off to who was approaching; he was the only one who ever called her that, though it was usually in jest.

            She lifted her wand, the tip glowing with a light spell, to see who approached. “Remus?” she asked, and he could tell from her voice she was still angry with him. “I’ve told you not to call me Nymph-”

            She didn’t get a chance to finish because Remus was kissing her, one hand winding into her hair and the other holding her firmly around the waist. Out of breath and bursting to speak, he pulled away as quickly as he’d kissed her, looking fervently into her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said, then kissed her again. And at the next breath: “I should have told you so long ago but I was so scared that if you were close to me, I’d kill you or bite you some full moon if you didn’t get away fast enough, and I could never forgive myself for hurting you–”again he kissed her–“and you were right, I never really believed I could love or be loved.” He kissed her again, this one the longest of the four, then pulled away, his arm still around her waist. “But I can. I know I can love, because I love you,” he said.

            Tonks looked understandably surprised and pulled slightly away from him, though he wouldn’t let go of her. “So, what, you changed your mind that fast?” she asked challengingly, though as close to her as he still was he could feel her trembling.

            He reached out to touch her face. “You were right,” he said softly. “I don’t know what the future holds, and if I keep hesitating . . . So many people have lost people they love in the war, and yet here I was, the woman I loved right in front of me, and I refused to tell her. So I’m telling you now, I love you. And because I do, I wish more than anything, for your sake, that you would run away from me and never look back, and for my sake I wish more than anything that you’d tell me now that you’re never leaving my side again.”

            She looked at him a long moment in which Remus could feel blood pulsing fast through his veins, then she laughed in such a way that Remus knew she was crying. He felt her put her arms around him and lean against his chest. “I’m never leaving your side again, you stupid boy,” she whispered.

            Applause suddenly sounded behind them, and Remus turned to see the two Aurors standing there. Tonks laughed, embarrassed, at being found in such a position while on duty, and the Aurors smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a long time, Tonks,” one of them said, and she smiled again before kissing Remus.

            Remus would always remember that as the most bittersweet night of his life. His old mentor died, and yet he himself felt as though he’d been reborn, had found someone to help him through the dark times ahead–for dark times there were indeed. Perhaps Tonks had been right, and Dumbledore was like a phoenix; he lived on in the legacy of love and courage he’d left for those around him, for those he’d loved, giving them strength to pass that love on.

fin

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