Woe of Aftermath

The Woe of Aftermath

By inez stanley

Chapter 1: Grimmauld Place

Tonks rang the doorbell. She stood there outside the door of the great mansion, once glorious and magnificent, now dilapidated and forsaken. And speaking of dilapidated and forsaken, she thought to herself, here approached the footsteps of the man she had come to see.

Remus, throughout his unbearable agony and heartache in the past month, had remained... there was no other word for it... strikingly gorgeous. Her breath almost caught in her throat as she caught sight of him, his robes even more loose than they had been the last time she had seen him, his hauntingly beautiful eyes if possible even more hollow. Why, why did she ever allow herself to begin to feel this way?

She remembered the first time she had seen him. He had been visiting the Ministry, in her first few days as a full fledged Auror just over a year ago. He was meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the two of them were having a conversation with Arthur Weasley. It was before she had joined the Order- in fact, it was a few days before she had heard about the Order. She had been sitting at her desk, working quietly and feeling thoroughly bored at having to read the large stack of files her superiors had thrown upon her desk. And he- somewhat slight and forlorn looking, had come up to her and asked where Shacklebolt might be found. The first thing she had noticed about him apart from his appearance was how kind his voice was. It was the kind of voice that one could listen to and feel as though everything was right with the world, even though his sorry state and his plaintive amber eyes suggested otherwise. And the second thing she had noticed was that he seemed weary beyond anyone she had ever seen- as though he had struggled for so long against something that he was powerless to fix; as though he would have liked nothing better than to curl up into the most comfortable position he could muster and sleep for the rest of eternity, but there was something, a nagging, menacing something that wouldn't give him a moment's rest.

She had since found out the source of his agony. And now that she knew he was a werewolf, perhaps because she had learned that he was a werewolf, her affection for him, her delight in his company (as rare as she had the pleasure of being in it), had escalated to a kind of frenzied desire she couldn't place, could barely recognize, but knew enough of her feelings to understand that it was desire nonetheless. There was something so delicate about him, so pure and perfect, and it made her heady to think that underneath that gentlemanly exterior he concealed...

"Hello, Tonks." His voice was harsh and broken as he greeted her, and she was forced to discontinue this train of thought. "Come in?" Polite as ever, he ushered her in with a flourish just before Mrs. Black began her cries of agony. Remus seemed unruffled at this annoyance, and she knew that he must have heard it often enough to ignore it with relative ease. She joined him as he walked over to the portrait and helped him to close the curtains surrounding the screaming woman's face.

When they had completed this routine chore, neither of them having said a word past the initial greetings, Remus mindlessly touched a hand to the small of Tonks's back and led her silently downstairs to the kitchen.

As he did this, and although Remus did not notice it, Tonks felt her heart rate increase dramatically at his touch. His arm was now around her. She shivered, resisting the urge to lean into his embrace, and finally he left her to walk over to the stove and put on the hot water. She sat down at the table.

"Anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?" he asked, his voice still cold and miserable. She wanted nothing more than to stride across the room then and there and embrace him, console him. But she became aware a moment later that he had just asked her a direct question, and she would have to find it in her to answer him somehow.

"Tea, please." Her own voice came out a bit breathy, for which she cursed herself. If only she were a bit less clumsy with her emotions, she might be able to get a hold of herself. Damn, she thought. I came here for a reason. Kingsley sent me here for a reason... Oh. To tell him...

"Kingsley said he couldn't come tonight."

"That's just as well. I'm not really fit for company."

A part of her protested, 'But I'm company!' But then, she realized with a shock that she didn't feel like company. She felt strangely at home, surrounded by a strangely comfortable silence-with Remus.

He seemed to have regretted his blunder, apologizing, "I meant... I'm not really up to talking about Order business tonight. Unless- was that all you came to tell me?"

Well, that was all she was sent to tell him...but somehow she couldn't just leave him at that. There had to be something else she could say to him, something that would have given her a real reason for coming here; she could have contacted him without coming all this way. But the fact of the matter was the reason she had come in person instead was for the simple reason that she wanted to see him, and to make sure he was all right.

"I came to see that you were... doing well, I guess." She cringed inwardly at the stupidity of her words. And she felt even worse when he shot her a look and replied.

"Dumbledore sent you to make sure I hadn't done myself a harm, I suppose?"

She lowered her gaze from him and returned gently, "Dumbledore didn't send me."

He looked at her sharply. "Tonks, I'm going to be fine. I just wish you all would stop bothering me, stop worrying about me, because you're only making it worse." He thrust her teacup under her nose, and instead of catching the strong scent of tea, she couldn't help but inhale the masculine aura of his surprisingly powerful hand...

She had no reply for him. She just continued to watch him as he carried the bottle of milk and plate of scones toward her and placed them gently on the table, before taking his place next to her. She helped herself to a warm scone, but noticed that he hadn't touched any, nor was he drinking anything. "Have you eaten anything today, Remus?" she asked without thinking.

"I haven't been hungry," he replied icily, then immediately shot up and began to pace the length of the kitchen, rather wolfishly, Tonks thought. Damn. Why did his agony play upon her like a minstrel to a particularly eager harp? 'Focus on the subject at hand. He hasn't been hungry,' she told herself.

"So when was the last time you ate?" she asked mildly, completely taken unaware by his snappy reply.

"What's it to you?" He almost growled it. Suddenly he reminded her of another, less pleasant member of the Order, one whom she tried to avoid as much as possible. But the two of them, Lupin and Snape, were so very different that Tonks had never imagined seeing the former in a state so similar to the usual bearing and attitude of the latter. She assumed, and then mentally checked to make sure she was correct in her deduction, that tonight was near the night of the full moon. The waxing and waning of the moon had their effect on far less vulnerable characters than werewolves. It was understandable that Remus would feel so irritable tonight, especially since it was the first full moon since Sirius's death.

She looked at him with an expression of barely concealed passion, which he mistakenly took for pity. "Is there anything I can do, then? Anything you need?"

He whirled around so suddenly that Tonks spilled a bit of coffee down her robes as he faced her with the most livid countenance she had ever seen him wear. "Do not feel sorry for me. Do not pity me. You, of all people -"

"But I don't feel sorry for you, Remus!" she sputtered, fumbling for her handkerchief.

He eyed her with mixed surprise and sheepishness. "You don't?"

"If you mean about Sirius, no."

"Oh." Now the embarrassment on his face was evident, as he sat down beside her and looked ashamed. "Sorry."

"I guess you're used to it, eh? People coming up to you and looking, well, like someone's just died- and at first you look the same way, but the more you feel like you're feeling better, the more it's not the loss that gets you down, but the fact that everyone expects you to never get over it."

"You've gotten it too, then?" Remus asked, looking concerned.

"Not with Sirius, no. But when my brother died a few years ago, they wouldn't let it go."

"You had a brother?" Remus's curiosity was now peaked.

"Yeah. Sam Tonks. He was a Squib. Worked as a Muggle constable. Got shot and killed on duty. My dad's family was devastated."

"Were you close?" Remus whispered, his throat constricting. Even though Remus had never had a real brother, he felt as though he had just lost more than a brother. Sirius and James and he had been so close it was as though they were glued together... and that rat Pettigrew had to rip them apart... He was brought back to the present by Tonks's answer.

"Yeah. We were close." She paused, her face clouding over for a moment. Then she apparently resolved not to dwell on it any longer, at least not in his company. She seemed to hesitate, then to shakily add to the conversation, "You know, I remember when I was little, Sirius used to bounce me on his knee." She smiled a little at the memory. Remus smiled too, trying to picture Sirius bouncing a child on his knee.

"How old were you?"

"I was four. He was seventeen. Sometimes he would come visit us over the summer and play with me, and show me magic. He was legal then. He'd fly me around in the air and buy me toy broomsticks, and sometimes he would even take me flying on his own broomstick. Until I fell off, that is. He managed to swoop down and catch me just in time, but it scared me so badly that I never did really care for flying after that." She still had a nostalgic glint in her eyes in the moments after she finished her story.

But a thought had just occurred to Remus, one that he had no business thinking, especially after just moments before making the revelation that she was thirteen years younger than him. Perhaps, in fact, he realized it because of this. But the fact remained that, even through the lingering scent of Sirius in the house, so strong it penetrated his very being and made him almost regret that he was not alone so he could once again break down with the memory of his lost brother, even through the war that was going on between his lonely, breaking heart and his more sensible body which was (painfully, hungrily) alive and wanted desperately to stay that way, through everything, he smelled, for the first time in years, a woman's desire. For him. And the beast inside him had to admit- he liked it. He liked it very much.

No, he told himself. No way in hell.

"Yes, Sirius was rather partial to flying," he allowed himself to reflect, holding himself together. "He was a Beater, you know. For Gryffindor."

"Did you play Quidditch?" she asked him curiously. She felt a bit better now that he had his usual sad smile on now, and continued making conversation. She was stalling, she knew. But she didn't know why. As much as she enjoyed this casual small talk, as much as she enjoyed just being in his company in general, she couldn't help but feel as though she was waiting for something, as though there was something in the air tonight, lurking just barely out of reach.

And though he was reveling in both the relief and the pain at tearing his mind at least partially away from Sirius, answering, "No, I was never very good on a broom myself. A bit too hesitant, I think. I enjoyed watching it, though," he too felt the sort of ringing in the air, the tiny crashes their auras made when their scents collided gently in a sort of whirlwind.

They were quiet for a few minutes. It was a very comfortable silence, as before. Remus didn't feel the need to search for things to say, as he did with most women he encountered. Instead he focused on her hair, the most noticeable thing about her. It was Christmas red tonight, and short and spiky as she usually wore it. He was always curious to see what she was going to do with it, as she always managed to find something new and creative. But he suddenly realized that he had no idea what she looked like normally. It came upon him that he had never seen her without some wild and original hairstyle or eye color or facial appearance, and he found himself wanting to know what true beauties were hidden under that desire to change herself...

'Since when do you think Tonks is beautiful?' he scolded himself. But surely there was no harm in thinking a person was beautiful... and Tonks was the very picture of youthful energy and loveliness, even with her crazy sense of fashion and strange sense of humor...

'Which was precisely why she wouldn't want an old wolf like you, Remus,' he steered himself away from those thoughts.

However, he couldn't say goodnight to her without finding out who she really was. It was a matter of principle. How would he bring it up, though? Then she very gracefully, albeit unwittingly, opened the window for him, saying, "I think you have a few more gray hairs, you know." She gave a ghost of her usual impish grin. He felt his heart leap at the knowledge that she had just been watching him as avidly as he had been observing her.

"You're one to talk, Tonks." It was now or never. He was strangely, unexplainably nervous and excited about it. "So, what exactly do you look like underneath all that spray paint, you Weasley-impersonator?"

She laughed a genuine laugh at his good humor. "You know, it's been so long since I've gone normal that I'm not sure I remember!" She looked thoughtful. "My hair's black, I know... and so are my eyes... What's the trick to go back to normal? Oh, yes, I remember..." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain, and suddenly her hair was bobbed and black and silky, the color of Sirius's. And when she opened her eyes he saw that they were no longer spunky green but black and shimmering and mysterious, and in an instant the picture of youth had become the portrait of a lady... a very attractive, desirable lady... His heart nearly stopped.

"It hurts when you change, doesn't it?" he found himself asking her.

She nodded. "A bit."

"Why do you do it, then?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Because I can, I suppose."

Remus laughed inwardly at her reasoning. She made her transformations willingly, simply because the thought of being herself, her beautiful, stunning self wasn't enough for her all the time- in fact, by all appearances, she felt quite uncomfortable just as she was. If only he possessed that choice for himself. "And what about going back to normal? Does that hurt?"

She looked up at him and replied, "Oh, that hurts worst of all." She grasped at this opportunity to talk to him about his lycanthropy, throwing caution to the winds if it were a touchy subject for him. After all, he had asked to see her...like this. (Somewhere deep inside her she had always wanted for some man to ask to see her as she was, and for him to give her the same approving glances she imagined he was giving her right now. 'It's only in your head, girl. Stop being stupid.') "And you? Does it hurt when you... you know... change?"

He smiled wanly and nodded his head. "Very much," he whispered to himself, but he knew she had heard him because she gave him a pitying look that he wanted to believe was tender. ('It's only in your head, man. Stop being stupid,' he told himself.)

"And when you become human again? Does that hurt, as well?"

Echoing her own sentiments, he answered, "Oh, that hurts worst of all."

"Why do you suppose?" Her voice was low, almost sultry. She laid a comforting palm upon his arm and gazed up at him with those eyes...

He sighed. It was, in fact, a touchy subject, but somehow he didn't mind talking about it with her. "It's because I can remember everything that happened. Even though I have no control over my thoughts and emotions as a wolf, I still make memories. And I remember becoming savage. It hurts to think about it more than anything."

"It's not your fault, you know."

"If it were my fault, do you think I'd feel so helpless against it?"

His matter of fact tone made her suddenly regard him in a new light. This was something he was more afraid of than anything. And yet, this one thing that he despised so much had never made him bitter or hateful, as it had probably done to many people. If anything, it had made him stronger. And so, he was able to bravely face it every month with temperance and mildness, and to show the world that though he had had so much to overcome, he had done it gracefully. His greatness affected her so much right now, when she was feeling afraid and confused and so helpless herself. "No," she whispered.

Again there was a pause. At last, Remus looked up, tearing his eyes away from the softness of her hair and the wonder in her face, and glanced at the clock. "Good Lord- It's eleven-thirty already. Did you mean to come so late? Not that I mind, but... you have to be getting home, and..." He felt foolish, prattling on, but he was beginning to worry about her. Surely her mother was expecting her- wait, she had said something a few weeks ago about renting her own flat. Maybe she wasn't planning on going home just yet.

'And how much farther is this little rendezvous going to take you?' he asked himself bitterly. 'What are you hoping for, that she'll come waltzing into your room at night and make wild love to you until the sun rises?'

Despite his attempts to discourage himself from getting his hopes up, his heart descended to his stomach rather abruptly when she stood up from the table and nodded her head. "Yes, I'd better do that."

Everything inside her was screaming out, 'Don't leave! Stay!' But she knew that there was nothing that was going to happen tonight with Remus that was worth staying for. Or was there? 'But what could possibly happen? You could talk to him more, making pointless small talk, but he's already expressed his desire for you to leave. It's late, he says. He's probably tired.'

But as he walked her to the door, treading quietly to ensure that the portrait of Sirius's mother didn't start screaming again, she thought of Remus, lying alone in his bed in this big, cold, quiet house, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. And she knew that despite his outer appearance of trying not to dwell on Sirius's death, he could be nothing but filled with the memories of his friend and the emptiness that was the result of the hollow place Sirius had left in his heart. She could not leave him alone in this house tonight.

So his heart began to hammer uncontrollably when she said, upon reaching the door, "You know what? I think I'll stay here tonight."