Amid My Solitude

Ye stolid, homely, visible things,
Above you all brood glorious wings
Of your deep entities, set high,
Like slow moons in a hidden sky.
-- Anna Hempstead Branch

In the time between breakfast and Harry's appointment with Snape, they talked shop; the twins bounced new sales ideas off of them, which were generally met with "brilliant!" from Ron and Harry, while Remus tried his best to look disapproving. He did like the idea of sets of specially-enchanted Quidditch equipment, for practices -- Snitches that specialised in getting your attention and then evading you, Bludgers that were lighter and could be batted away with one's hands -- and he said so.

"Got to make sure people don't swap them for the real thing on the playing field, though," he cautioned.

"Did you play Quidditch?" Fred asked. Remus shook his head.

"That was James' hobby. Sirius too, for a bit, till he got thrown off the team."

"What for?" Ron looked interested. Remus coughed.

"Indecent activity in the locker room," he muttered. The boys burst into rude laughter.

"Not really?" Tonks asked, grinning.

"Quidditch always had that effect on him," Remus added. He noticed Harry staring at his breakfast, cheeks barely flushed. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to -- "

"It's all right," he said, pushing food around with his fork. "I'd better go get ready for my lesson."

"Harry -- "

But the boy was already gone. Fred and George exchanged a look.

"Time we were off to the shop," Fred announced. Tonks nodded.

"I've got work..." she added, rising. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Sixteen year olds tend to be a bit moody."

"Thank you," Ron said pointedly.

"Proving me right," Tonks added, tousling his hair. Ron ducked away, fingers trying to straighten it out. "I've got to stop off at my flat after work -- unless something comes up that keeps me from home entirely," she said with a grimace. "I thought I'd drop by Diagon Alley, too, and pick up something for Harry's birthday. So I may not be by till late tonight."

"Erm..." Remus cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's...an early night for me."

All four of them looked at him, curiously.

"Full moon," he muttered.

"Do you want me to get anything from Diagon Alley?" Tonks asked. "Is there anything -- "

She was cut off by Snape's abrupt appearance in the doorway. He tossed what looked liked a wide-based wine-bottle past her, and Remus snatched it out of the air, before it could shatter on the table.

"That's four months' worth of wolfsbane potion," Snape said, offhandedly, as if he hadn't nearly destroyed the thing. "Six if you're frugal. I don't want you coming to me again until at least after Halloween."

"Thank you, Severus," Remus said, civilly, though he longed to continue their shouting match from earlier in the morning.

"Have some breakfast, Professor Snape?" Fred asked brightly. George nodded and offered a plate.

"I would not touch your breakfast, Weasley, with dragonhide gloves," Snape replied, stalking away. The twins looked despondent.

"We're never going to find anyone to test the new doughnuts on," George sighed. "You don't want to be guinea pig, do you, Lupin? Ring for hours with a Ding Dong Doughnut!"

"Can't you give out free samples at the shop, or some such?" Remus asked, as Tonks snickered and deposited her plate in the sink.

"Suppose we could. Get awfully loud in the shop, though. Still, chaos is never a bad thing."

"Speak for yourselves," Tonks replied. "All right, I'm going to dress and I'll leave by the floo in my bedroom -- Weasleys, I'll see you later today. Don't let him get into any mischief," she added, with a grin for Remus, who grinned back.

"Harry and I 're going to Diagon Alley this afternoon too," Ron announced. "He hasn't seen the new joke shop yet."

"You mean I might have the place to myself for an afternoon?" Remus asked. "Heavens above. I might even get some work done."

***

He certainly didn't get any work done that morning.

His rooms were above the library, and it was barely ten minutes before he knew he couldn't stay there; he could hear Snape's harsh tones through the floor, hear Harry's occasional cry of pain, and he knew there was nothing to be done about it. But he couldn't listen to that, listen to James' son being undeservedly tormented, even if he saw -- though Harry might not -- that every hateful lesson with Severus Snape brought him that much closer to power.

Harry didn't want power. But he needed it.

He found himself moving through the sprawling Black mansion like a ghost, trying to get as far away from the library as possible. After...after Sirius had died, they'd taken the last steps necessary and gotten rid of the grotesque house-elf heads. They'd also destroyed the portrait of the old Black matriarch, who seemed less tenacious about clinging to the wall now that the last of the Blacks was dead. The upper floors were eerily spartan, devoid of any decoration, scrubbed bare by Molly's army of involuntary housecleaners. Down below, somewhere, he suspected Ron was trying just as hard as he was, not to think about Harry in the library. He ought to find the boy, try and talk with him. He was Harry's best friend, after all.

Remus, folding himself into a narrow window-seat, stared out at the other houses nearby, full of people who'd no idea that this house even existed anymore.

He knew what it was like to be a shadow, to be just a half-step behind the popular boy, the boy everyone knew. Ron dealt with that in his own way, he was sure. Ron must be used to it; with five older brothers, indeed he must.

But at the same time, Ron had five older brothers. He had an entire family. Watching over him, teaching him things, taking care of him. In the Lupin household it had been Remus and his parents and that was all --

This was stupid, Remus decided. Self-pity was for people who'd nothing better to do.

He pushed himself out of the window-seat. It had been better when it was just him and Sirius living here. He liked the twins, but they were always poking about, trying to get him to help them come up with new mischief -- their admiration for one of the authors of the Marauder's Map knew no bounds. And he loved Harry, loved him deeply, but that boy was screwed up every which way, and being tortured by Severus Snape didn't help him any.

Life was simpler alone. You didn't have to wonder how to comfort a boy or worry whether you'd hurt someone with something you didn't even mean to say in the first place, or be afraid that one day you were going to reach for her and she wasn't going to be there --

He'd gone down the stairs quietly, but by the time he'd reached the bottom floor, Ron was standing there, one hand on the banister, expectant.

"Can't you teach him?" Ron blurted, without even a greeting. "It's awful, hearing Snape yell at him."

"I'm no good at it," Remus replied, brushing past him. "Perhaps you'd best go to Diagon Alley. I can send Harry -- "

"Yeah, leave so that nobody at all's here when he's finally done," Ron said rebelliously. "Great idea."

"Well, Ron, find something to do then!" Remus snapped. The boy looked stricken, and he felt an immediate stab of regret.

"Or help me find something to do, so I'm not shouting at people who don't deserve it," he said, apologetically. Ron gave him a weak grin. "You must have something you're supposed to be doing."

"Did the dishes," Ron said sheepishly. "And made a sandwich. And dusted."

"You dusted?" Remus asked. "Do you even know how to dust?"

"After my mum?" Ron replied.

"Good point. What about homework, don't you have assignments over the summer?"

Ron scowled. "Haven't got my books."

"Nice try," Remus replied. "You can help me do mine, then."

He led Ron back through the house, and handed the boy an armload of books. Ron made a face and sneezed, but followed obediently enough as they sought the comfort of the living room.

"Is this what you do all the time we're not around?" he asked, as Remus instructed him on what to look for. The older man shrugged.

"Order business. And this. I do have to feed myself somehow," he said, handing Ron a sheet of parchment. "I write articles, papers, that sort of thing. It's very hard to get fired for continual absences when you never see your publisher face-to-face anyway."

Ron smiled, and bent to his book, and Remus was more than happy to let a concentrated silence descend on the room.

***

It was late, by the time Tonks let herself into Headquarters; she hadn't intended to come back at all, but to go home to her flat after a hasty dinner in Diagon Alley. She'd managed to find something she thought Harry would like for his birthday, while still keeping an eye on him and Ron, with a little help from the twins, who had promised to send Ron back to the Burrow and bring Harry home after closing up shop.

She walked up the stairs, quietly, and listened at Remus' door. No noise; she hoped he was asleep. She'd found time at work to do a little research on wolfsbane potions. What she'd found hadn't been pretty. She'd studied werewolves in school and Auror training, of course, but only as targets. To find out about the terrible pain of the transformation and the self-destructiveness of penned wolves...Well. It made her understand him much better, the quiet man with whom she'd been sharing a bed.

There was a soft whine from the other side of the door, and a scratch on the wood. She hurried on quickly, before her compassionate instincts got the better of her and she opened the door.

She headed for the small book-lined den on the third floor, which, at night, afforded the best view of the stars through its skylight. She felt like sinking into one of the chairs and curling up alone in the dark room.

It was already occupied, however.

Severus Snape sat in one of the rich, freshly-cleaned armchairs, a book in his hands, reading idly.

"I'm sorry," she said, when he looked up sharply. "I didn't mean to intrude -- "

He waved a thin-fingered hand, indicating that it was no concern of his. The man could make her feel like a third-year with just a gesture. She hated that.

So, to spite him, she sat, and picked up a nearby book. It looked like one of the ones Remus had recently been using; not the most interesting subject matter, but then she really just wanted something to do with her hands while she looked out and up, at the moon and stars.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed before Snape, delicately turning a page, said without preamble, "May I ask you a question?"

She glanced at him, but he appeared to be engrossed in his reading.

She wanted to say that if he had to ask about it, it probably was something she wasn't going to want to answer; instead, she merely said "Yes", and made an effort to leave off the "sir".

"You are quite young," he said. "And I understand that in the Order there is a certain...hierarchy."

Tonks had a nasty feeling that she knew where this was going.

"And I don't wish to presume that you are overstepping any boundaries, but..." Snape looked up at her, then. "Are you sure your...friendship with Lupin is entirely appropriate?"

Tonks could do nothing but stare.

"Not to mention, good for the Order? And your own mental health?" Snape continued blandly.

"My...mental...health..." Tonks repeated, lost in a sea of offended indignation.

"I merely ask out of concern for Order stability," Snape replied, returning to his book.

"How...did you -- "

"Harry's lessons this morning."

"And you...have the gall..." Tonks stammered. "You have the absolute and unutterable -- I can't even think of the word for what you think you're doing -- "

"I am ensuring the safety of the Order and its stability. We all know Lupin's practically Dumbledore's lapdog. I have not done all this work to watch it crumble because of an ill-timed misstep on the part of a young woman who can hardly be expected to -- "

He was cut off by a loud crack, and Tonks stared in horror.

She'd slapped him. Actually slapped Severus Snape. Her professor. A man whose biting sarcasm had made her cringe in horror for seven years.

He stared up at her, dark eyes bright in his sallow-skinned face.

"I'm so sorry -- " she said, stepping forward. She stumbled, of course, over the table next to the chair, and nearly fell over. Several books went flying. "I didn't mean -- I'm so sorry," and then, to her horror, she said "Professor."

He stood, swiftly, catching the table in one hand, closing his book with the other. The skin on his cheek was already turning red, and purple around his eye.

He stared at her for a moment, incredibly tall and imposing and proud, while she was hunched over the table, trying to keep her balance.

Then, with a crack, he Disapparated. Tonks, bereft of his supporting hand on the table, sprawled to the floor, and burst into undignified, undisciplined, un-Tonks-like tears.

"Tonks?"

She put a hand to her eyes, pushing herself up off the floor. Of course Harry would show up now; that was the story of her life.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, hesitantly. She sniffed, mightily, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm fine, Harry," she said. "Took a bad spill, that's all."

"I thought I heard Professor Snape."

"Yes, you did," she admitted. "He's gone now, though."

"He's just a slimy git," Harry said, obviously feeling that her tears had been directly inspired by the Potions master. "You can't listen to anything he says."

"I know," Tonks said, dropping into one of the chairs again. "But it's hard not to when he's telling the truth."

"Sorry about that," Harry said, leaning on a bookshelf. "He was in my head this morning. He saw...things."

"He said as much."

"Great bastard," Harry said, with feeling. Tonks laughed, through the last of her tears. "He hasn't any right to say anything."

"He hasn't the right, but he has a good point."

"Well, I think it's brilliant," Harry said stoutly. "He's just jealous, that's all."

"Of...of Remus?" Tonks asked, disbelieving.

"Well, you're..." Harry turned bright red. "I mean, who wouldn't want to..."

Tonks laughed again. "You don't have to finish that sentence, Harry, it's all right. Thank you."

Harry nodded, and crossed his arms. "Ron left his wizard chess set here, if you want to play. They heckle," he warned.

Tonks smiled. "Keep us busy for a while, anyhow," she said softly. "Sure you're up to it? Long day for you."

Harry brushed it off. "I'm used to long days," he said. Tonks thought for a moment she might cry again.

His gesture was a perfect mimicry of one Remus sometimes made.

***

The door locks, the last time Remus had closed them, had made an audible click as they slid into their slots; it was reasonable to assume, Tonks had decided (around the second game of Wizard chess, and before sending Harry off to bed) that they would click again unlocking.

So she pulled her counterpane off of the bed in the room she kept at Headquarters, and wrapped herself up in it, and managed to doze off -- Aurors learned quickly how to sleep in uncomfortable situations -- on the second-floor landing, near his door.

She was right; around four in the morning, she was pulled out of a half-dream by a sharp click, followed by another one inside.

She stood, and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, hand resting on the doorknob. After a second, she turned it softly, and opened it.

Then she drew in a quick, sharp breath, and dropped the blanket.

Remus Lupin lay on the floor, shivering, naked, sweating; his hair hung in his eyes, and his knees were drawn up to his chest, the muscles across his ribcage twitching convulsively.

Without thinking, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shake; after a moment, his muscles slacked and eased, and he gasped for air, turning eyes on her that weren't fully human. She steadied herself, staring as the last amber flicker faded from his pupils.

Ordinary brown eyes looked up at her in disbelief.

"You catch me...'n the wors' 'sitions," he said, his words slurring.

"Yes, well, that's why they pay me the big money," she replied lightly. He uncurled a little, and she released him so that he could pull a tattered, much-mended blanket off the couch, and cover himself. She reached for her own blanket, but he was already standing, unsteadily, stumbling towards his bed in the other room.

"What're you doin' her'?" he asked, his words still running together. "How'd you get 'n?"

"Your door unlocked itself," she replied, grabbing his elbow as he stumbled. "Is this normal?"

"Normal 's I get," he managed, sliding between crisp white sheets, pulling the blanket with him. "Staying?" he asked.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes," he said, simply, and curled up again, turning his back to her. She stroked his hair. "Or no. S'hard to think."

"Are you tired?"

"I hurt."

She wondered if, at any other moment in his life, he'd admit it so plainly.

"Then I'll stay," she said, moving in next to him.

"Can't promise much," he said, his words a little more clear.

"I didn't ask for any promises."

"Oh."

She smiled, and wrapped an arm around his waist. His breathing was shallow, but even; his fingers traced the lines of her hand, and she could feel him tense, occasionally -- as if the physical pain of transition came and went.

"How are you?" she asked, after it seemed the last, worst shudder had passed.

"All right, now," he muttered. "Feel a bit stupid, though. S'normal. Potion does it. What time?"

"About four-thirty."

"Stay up all night?"

"I slept a little."

His hand was still touching hers, exploring the shape of the muscles, the ridges of her knuckles. "Should call you some name," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Barging in. I'm not proud of this. Should shout at you," he said, and Tonks realised that walking in on him, naked and still recovering from his change, had been an enormous -- an unforgivable breach of manners.

She began to pull away, but his hand pinned hers in place.

"I don't let anyone see," he whispered hoarsely.

"I'm sorry -- "

"Don't be," he replied. She wished she could see his face; she pushed herself up on one elbow, and leaned forward.

His eyes were closed, and there was a strange half-smile on his face. He opened them when she blocked out the first hints of grey sunlight beginning to stream in through the window.

Just plain, the same brown his eyes always were. She wondered if she'd imagined the yellow that had faded from them even as he'd lain on the floor, convulsing.

"I ought to care so much more," he said, his voice rough. "That you see these things."

"I don't think any less of you," she answered, leaning in to kiss his forehead. He moved his head, at the last minute, and pulled her down so that her lips met his.

"Why don't you?" he asked. "Why aren't you scared?"

"Because I know," she replied.

"Anim-m-orphm-m-agus," he said, stuttering a little.

"You spend three nights a month locked away from the world," she whispered. "And I haven't any idea what my real face ought to look like. We both hide. Neither of us got to choose."

"So we understand each other," he said.

"I think so."

"How'd you like," he asked, mischief sparking in his eyes, "to work on that hobby?"

She laughed. "Half an hour ago you -- "

"Looked up and saw you," he finished for her. "Why did you?"

Tonks kissed him again. "You are going to hate me," she said.

"I very much doubt it."

"I wanted to see you."

"Because...?"

She sighed. "Because I slapped Severus Snape."

He looked up at her. "I'm still feeling just slightly stupid, Tonks, but I'm fairly sure -- "

"He said the most awful things," she said. "He found out about us from Harry in lessons this morning, and he said you were bad for my mental health and we'd wreck the Order and he called you Dumbledore's lapdog and he said I couldn't be expected to..." she trailed off. "Well, I don't know what he thought he couldn't expect me to do, because that's when I slapped him. Control myself, maybe."

Remus let his head fall back, and closed his eyes. When he spoke, Tonks could just barely see his pulse, beating in his throat.

"If Severus Snape would, for just ten minutes together, stop being an absolute ass, I'd have a lot more sympathy for him," he said. "If you could buy tact, I would have sent him a big bouquet of it a long time ago."

Tonks grinned. "I'd like to order some tact, and could you wrap it up in a box of human decency?"

"Exactly." Remus sighed. "He's right though. I'm probably not that good for your mental health. And this is exactly the sort of thing that could cause problems in the Order."

"It's just a hobby," Tonks said. He laughed.

"Sure, our hobby. Man's got to have a hobby," he said. "Speaking of which..."

She wondered, briefly, how exactly they'd gotten themselves into this; but only briefly, because there was something about being here, with him, that made the world fade away.

***

It was only natural, he thought. Of course it was.

When he was at school, he'd gone nearly mad during the three days a month he was trapped in the Shrieking Shack; he'd work compulsively on his schoolwork during the day, or sleep as much as possible, anything not to be thinking about why he was living in a run-down haunted house on the edge of Hogsmeade.

After James and Sirius and Peter managed their first transformations it was better, but he was still trapped, and after he came back there was always that nervous energy. He wanted distraction. He wanted activity. And when he was...alone again, out on his own, the old compulsions had come back.

There had been a sort of slow animal rage in him when he'd smelled her, his senses still obscenely focused after his transformation. He'd done his best to stifle it; he'd gotten away from her and into the bed, and then when she'd followed, he'd given in and simply ignored her, until he felt like he could think clearly again.

He should have been angry with her, should have made her leave, but it was so easy to let her touch him, to listen to her deep, even breathing. And he knew too well that there was too much animal in him this close after the change, and animals were concerned with territory, food, and sex...

And he wasn't hungry. Or particularly worried about hunting grounds.

"For a man who didn't have fingers an hour ago," Tonks said, as he worked his way down to her collarbone, hands unbuttoning the simple nightshirt she was wearing, "you're pretty handy..."

"I'm well-motivated," he replied, nuzzling one bare breast. She gasped, and arched her back against him, and the fabric of her clothing felt delightful on his skin.

"You're still new," he said, aware that he wasn't making much sense. "So much for me to learn..."

"Quick study," Tonks moaned, fingers twining in his hair. He tilted his head, guiding her to the soft fine hair spreading across his shoulders.

"Help me," he said, stupidly, struggling to pull her nightshirt off. She obediently shifted, lifting her hips, then her back, to slide the rest of it over her head. The roll of her body very nearly made him forget his own name.

And then they were moving, and the way she arched her back was the least of the sensations rushing through him; her sleek skin, her eyes, the curls in her hair, and more -- her voice, the turn of her head, the things she said so quietly that he barely heard them. And memories -- of the way she spoke, head slightly inclined, hair falling across her face. She was dangerous when she let that happen, because all he wanted to do was slide an arm around her waist and not care who saw him do it.

She cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he felt her body tense, surprised at the swiftness of it; a second later he understood the sensation all too well, as his own pleasure nearly pulled him under, into unconsciousness.

"See...that's how you should breathe," she said, after a few minutes. He was aware he'd been taking in deep lungfuls of air, but otherwise he was going to do himself a harm.

"So noted," he replied, rolling and pulling her with him, until she ended up cradled on his chest. He liked her there; liked the weight of her, the feeling that somehow, when they were like this, he was responsible for someone other than himself. She let one hand drift along his arms, thoughtfully.

"Two more nights of that?" she asked, softly. "How do you survive?"

"You pretend it's all right," he answered. "And after a while -- "

" -- you get really good at pretending. I remember," she replied.

"You should sleep. You've got work," he mumbled.

"Can I sleep here?"

"Mmh," he replied, closing his eyes. "You think you could?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think so."

***