Amid My Solitude

We cannot know how much we learn
From those who never will return,
Until a flash of unforeseen
Remembrance falls on what has been.
-- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Harry's birthday was the Saturday after the last full-moon evening, and Molly had organised most of it, as she tended to do; Remus had wanted a hand in it, but in the daytime he was in no condition to do much of anything, and at night...

He had a lot of time to think, though, especially since Tonks was called away by Kingsley -- some extended mission for the Ministry, which didn't bring her back until the day of Harry's party.

He hadn't realised how accustomed he could be to sharing a bed, until she suddenly vanished for three days.

He read, and wrote some at his desk when he felt up to it, and there were orders to give -- Snape had a mission, discussed in tense and not overly friendly terms, and the twins, now full members, had daily gossip reports from Diagon Alley for him to read through, process, and make decisions about. There were editorials to be read about the Werewolf Statement, as the papers had taken to calling it. Letters to write. All done from his desk or his bed, all important, and all exhausting.

Still, he found time to worry. Remus Lupin always had time to worry.

In this case, a minor, almost a childish worry, but nevertheless an important one. Harry was here, and it was almost his birthday. Sixteen was a terribly important birthday for a boy. The next best thing he had in the world to a father was going to be there, for Harry's first real party ever, and couldn't afford to buy him much more than a card. Last Christmas he'd had to borrow money from Sirius to chip in for the books they'd bought the boy...

So he worried, quite creatively, and quite skillfully. He could worry with real purpose, Remus could. He'd honed it to an art form. And usually, he found, it caused him to think of a solution, sooner or later. It had also probably caused most of his premature grey, but one of the few things he did not worry about was his appearance.

Just before the third full-moon night, he sent off two owls; one to Hogwarts, and one to an acquaintance of his in Hogsmeade, who was known to have a certain affinity for -- and more importantly, skill with -- Muggle mechanical things.

He slept well, the last night before Harry's party, which was a relief. Harry himself had been about, but he'd been quiet, and spent most of his time with Ron and Hermione, or being carefully watched over by the twins, in their joke shop in Diagon Alley. Molly bustled around, seemingly having done everything two minutes before Remus thought to do it. He found himself, quite uselessly, waiting for the owl post; when it came, just before the party, he breathed a sigh of relief and placed the object from the letter quite carefully in the card he'd bought.

Molly obviously wanted this to be perfect. So, apparently, did the rest of the Order, as they began to arrive. Mad-Eye hardly roared at all. Dumbledore allowed himself to be given the task of hanging streamers, ostensibly because he was the tallest; in actuality, this didn't matter, because wizarding streamers could be hung by anyone, as long as they had a wand and a decent magical education. Several others helped Molly prepare enough food to feed an army, and set up mismatched tables and chairs in the grand, empty old ballroom in one wing of the Black mansion, under Ginny's officious direction.

Just past two in the afternoon, Harry returned from the joke shop with the twins, who'd closed up early, and Hermione and Ron, who'd been helping him pick out the ten sickles' worth of tricks the twins had promised him. On their heels came Kingsley and Tonks, both of whom looked as though they could use a thorough washing. None of the Order asked, but nobody complained when they vanished, Kingsley to his first-floor room for spare clothes and Tonks to the upstairs washroom, tripping on the stairs.

By the time they were presentable, Harry had been enthroned in a massive wing-chair in the ballroom, and surrounded by piles of presents, as well as an enormous cake that was already being distributed among the Order. He glanced up at Molly and Arthur, who were standing near the doorway and grinning, arms around each other's waists.

"I thought it was just going to be a cake," Harry said, eyes wide. "And some candles."

"Happy birthday," Molly answered.

"We won't sing," Arthur promised.

"Open yer presents, then," Mad-Eye growled, fork hovering threateningly over his slice of cake. "Like as not one of 'em's going to explode."

Fred and George, looking slightly guilty, edged a gaily-wrapped pink box away from the others.

Remus, who was standing rather shyly nearby, felt Tonks' hand on his shoulder as she leaned forward to watch Harry open his presents. He wished more than anything that this was how all of Harry's birthdays had been; that James and Sirius and Lily were standing just out of his vision, watching the boy unwrap his gifts.

There was a packet of fireworks from Mundungus Fletcher, and a properly pointy wizarding hat -- blue, with spangles -- from Arabella Figg and Moody, who said he'd charmed it to scream if anyone else put it on. Harry tossed it to Ron, who pulled it over his ears and grinned as it shrieked "NOT HARRY!" until he removed it.

A book from Hermione, of course, a collection of short stories from the Wizarding World; another by post from Minerva McGonagall, on the specific charms used in flying broomstick manufacture. And there were other gifts as well; notably, from Dumbledore, a pair of thick, brand new woolly socks. Harry grinned at the Headmaster -- apparently this was some joke between the two of them -- and opened Dobby's present-by-proxy, an oversized oven mitt obviously meant to be worn as a hat.

"Dobby," Harry sighed, with a grin, and laid it next to the other gifts, just as reverently, Remus noted.

"Looks as though that's it, Harry," Arthur said, rifling through the paper littering the table. "Pretty good, eh?"

"Better than good," Harry answered.

"One more thing, Harry," Remus said, drawing a small envelope out of his inside pocket. He passed it to Harry, who looked at it quizzically. "Sorry it's not wrapped very well," he added.

Harry slit the envelope open, and pulled out the cheap birthday card. When he opened it, a small silver key glinted up at him; he pulled it away from the card and examined it, curiously.

"A little abstract, I'll admit," Remus said. Most of the Order was looking at him with the same curious suspicion that was clear on Harry's face. "But the rest of it's in the back garden."

He followed close behind Harry as the boy walked down the corridor, the key clutched in one hand. Ron and Hermione were on either side, and it was Ron who actually saw first, through the back-door window.

"Hagrid!" he shouted, and the three of them dashed through the door. Remus shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered out onto the small back stoop, while Harry raced down the steps to give Hagrid a welcoming hug.

"Brought yer somethin' fer yer birthday," Hagrid rumbled, and one of his giant hands indicated a large, sheet-covered object. The other reached over and jerked the sheet off.

"REMUS LUPIN!" Molly shrieked in outrage. "YOU DID NOT GIVE A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY A FLYING MOTORBIKE!"

Remus just smiled.

Molly pushed her way to the front, but Ron and Harry were already inspecting the motorbike, Hermione leaning over the handlebars to tap on the dials, Ginny pre-emptively begging for a ride. Arthur Weasley was also there, murmuring over the "infernal contusion engine" and the chrome finishes.

"I only ever saw it once," he said excitedly, to Harry. "Oh, but it's wonderful, isn't it? Where'd you find it, Lupin?" he called.

"You cannot give a sixth-year student a motorbike!" Molly insisted.

"Hagrid's had it in his attic," Remus replied. "It's really from him as much as me, Harry. He got it fixed up, replaced the bits that had been chewed on by mice."

"Idear was yers, though," Hagrid rumbled. "Can't take credit fer that."

Harry, who had straddled the bike seat and was inspecting the ignition, looked up and beamed.

"Arthur, stop encouraging him!" Molly shouted.

"It's all right, Molly. It's enchanted not to fly above a certain speed," Remus said. "He'll do fine with it, won't you, Harry?" he asked.

"How's it work?" Harry called in reply, turning the key in the ignition. Nothing happened.

"You've got to kick-start it," Remus called. "Hagrid, show him how."

Hagrid bent over the bike, helping Harry position his foot, and then there was a belch of exhaust, a roaring noise. Arthur was looking on rapturously, pointing out the various components. Ron picked up the helmet hung on one handlebar, and put it on Harry's head.

"You're all hopeless," Molly said crossly.

"Got to keep petrol in it, too, Harry, it's part of the Muggle bits," said Remus. "Hagrid can show you, he knows how it works."

"Don't you?" Arthur asked. "I'm sure I saw you fly it once, Lupin."

Remus shrugged. "Once or twice. Never for very long."

"Show me!" Harry cried. Ron, bent in solemn contemplation over the front wheel with his father on the other side, jumped back as Harry inadvertently revved the engine.

The lesson lasted all afternoon, with most of the Order lounging on the back steps, watching or giving useless advice, while Harry learned how to shift the gears properly and make the motorbike look as though it was just running along the ground while hovering it a few centimetres above. When he finally took flight and circled Headquarters, he was greeted with claps and cheers from the Order. He pulled his helmet off and grinned widely, as he landed.

"It's brilliant," he breathed, cutting the ignition expertly, as if he'd been doing it his whole life.

"Yours by right," Remus replied. "And inheritance."

"Ye rode that bike when ye were just a wee tot," Hagrid added. "Hel' you in this hand. And ye slep' right through mos' of it."

Harry swung his leg over and off the bike, setting the helmet carefully on the seat.

He did not hug the older man. Sixteen year old boys are very particular about when and where they hug. But he did give Remus a brilliant smile -- James Potter's smile -- and said thank you, and let Remus clap him on the back as they sat on the steps of the back porch.

Fred and George, who'd been waiting all evening for this, began to set off fireworks.

"So," Tonks said, seated on the other side of Remus from Harry. "Been a good day, Harry?"

"It's been perfect," Harry said, sitting back to watch the fireworks.

"Perfect's the word," Remus replied.

"Won't last, will it?" Tonks asked softly, as Harry leaned away to make some remark to Ron and Hermione, who were perched on the edge of the back steps.

"Never does," Remus replied. "But that doesn't matter. Harry had a good day."

"So did we," Tonks reminded him. She rested her cheek against his shoulder, hand curling under his arm. He glanced anxiously at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster caught his eye, gave him a solemn wink, and turned back to the fireworks.

He saw, because he'd begun to learn to see, that other members of the Order were occasionally glancing their way, and knew that this was Tonks' way of announcing their...hobby, to the general populace. He rather wished she'd asked him, first, but he had after all said that she could tell anyone she liked...

And it was nice to feel her cheek on his shoulder.

There had been far too much nice in his world lately. This meant that trouble was brewing. But sitting on the steps in the balmy summer evening, watching fireworks with Tonks next to him and Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the other side, Dumbledore's tacit approval and the company of the Order, well fed on cake...

It was terribly difficult to care whether or not Perfect wouldn't last.

When the fireworks finally ended, he helped Harry wheel the motorbike into a back room of the mansion and cover it up again, with the promise that if he was careful, he could take Ron and Hermione riding on it after a few more lessons. The Order began drifting homeward, and Molly and Arthur were clearing up when he and Harry walked into the ballroom; Molly insisted that Harry go take his new gifts upstairs and enjoy them, though the boy offered to help clean.

"Moll, have you got all the forks?" Arthur called, as plates stacked themselves under his watchful eye.

"Thirty two, is that right?"

"Right as rain. Not much left of the cake..."

"Oh, do save it, there's a dear..." Molly said, as Arthur slid the remains of the cake onto a clean plate. "Quite a nice party."

"Just what the lad wanted," Arthur agreed, leaning across the table to kiss her on the cheek. "Well done, Molly."

"It wasn't anything," Molly said, with a smile. Remus moved quietly out of the doorway, and back into the hallway.

He climbed the back stairs, past Harry's room where he and Ron were laughing over something, past the strange-smelling rooms that the twins inhabited, and around the landing to his own.

Molly and Arthur were two of his closest friends in the world. After James and Lily died, after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban and they all thought Peter had been killed, he'd stayed with them while he tried to reassemble a life without his -- his only friends, really. They'd filled part of that gap. Over the years Arthur had always tried to send work his way, and they'd both been overjoyed to find out he was teaching at Hogwarts.

He quite hated it that he envied them; not just Arthur for having a wife who put up with more than almost any woman would, but both of them, for having each other. Not to mention attempting to singlehandedly double the Wizarding population of England with their offspring.

Because that wasn't something he could have. He'd tried. Not even for children. Just for a woman who would tolerate him. A woman who would tolerate him and agree to give it that one in four chance, that was too much to ask for, but even just having someone...someone like Molly.

Tonks tolerated him, but Tonks was in it for the fun. She came and went, and probably didn't think about it much. Besides, he hadn't thought of her. Much. Not constantly, certainly. Too much else to think about.

Because he was in it for the fun, too. Well, perhaps not for the fun, but for decent human contact, and Tonks was beautiful, and smart, and she put up with him.

And she'd slapped Severus Snape, which in his book was grounds for some kind of civil service medal.

"So did you miss me?"

He paused, one hand on his desk, and let his head fall, and smiled.

"Kingsley asked me about us," Tonks said, from a shadowy niche near the fireplace.

"Kingsley could rip my arm off and beat me over the head with it," he replied.

"Kingsley knows I'd castrate him if he tried."

"Tough girl, Tonks."

"They don't come any tougher," she said, moving to stand near him. "He still thinks you ought to be keeping Snape reined in a little tighter."

"After me yelling at him and you slapping him, we ought to give the man a break, not a chaperone," Remus replied, one hand moving to pull her closer.

"Let's talk about anything but what we're talking about," Tonks said softly.

"How about not talking at all?"

"Works for me."

He covered her mouth with his, enjoying the way she moved against his body. She never seemed quite completely still, and the pads of his fingertips worked their way down her body, through her unbuttoned robe, stroking, forcing soft, pleased sounds from the back of her throat. God, she was good at this.

He wondered, idly, because there was a part of him that was scholar first and a man second, whether this was a part of Auror training. This...responsiveness. The knowledge of how to pick the right time, the right place.

Just the right person...

Shock ran through him, a physical jolt that made Tonks laugh and slide her hand between their hips, wanting more. It was equal parts surprise at the implications of his thought, and disgust that he'd even had it at all. That he could think Tonks, of all people, would do that, would seduce him in order to spy...it was his fault any of this had even happened, he reminded himself, so distracted that he barely felt her undoing his waistcoat and threadbare white shirt.

No. No. This was Tonks. It was just something they did. It wasn't romance; it was need for human contact, a mutual understanding. It wasn't a...seduction. For any reason.

He forced his mind to be silent, forced the small, sensible voices in his head to stop talking.

She nuzzled the base of his neck, and said his name, quite softly.

"Yes?" he asked, bending to speak in her ear, his right hand sliding over hip, down to rest on her thigh.

"Yes," she agreed, pushing him back towards the bedroom. He went willingly, still forcing himself not to think. Surprisingly difficult.

"Do you know," he asked, nearly tumbling backwards on to the edge of the bed. She climbed over him, and bare skin on bare skin made him gasp. "Do you know...why I...good god, please..."

Tonks leaned back from the kiss, a little, and wriggled. He moaned.

"Why you...?" she prompted. He groped for words.

"Why I finally gave in?" he asked. She spread her legs, a little, and slid down further on his thighs.

"Because I promised to shag you senseless?" she asked.

"You never promised that," he said, gripping her waist and turning her onto the bed, following until he lay on top of her, elbows holding him up, hands on her face.

Not to know what your real face is, he thought. A tragedy...

"Then why?" she asked, eyes wide as he touched her forehead, her cheeks.

"Because I couldn't bear that you stopped touching me," he admitted.

"No fear," she replied lightly, and bucked her hips suddenly. He bowed his head and moaned, and when she moved her legs he moved forward, slowly, making her draw in her breath, sharply.

"Never...stop..." he begged, moving his hands to cradle her head. She sighed a small "Umnh" of pleasure, and began to move faster. He had some question to ask her, some demand to make, but all he could feel now was the pulse through his veins and her, moving with it, destroying all chance at thought, rational or any other kind...

When her thumbs slid across his shoulders and she moaned, low and almost pained, he felt her pleasure straight into his body, and responded; she only cried out once more, when he gripped her tightly and nearly howled into her neck.

For a few moments, though time could pass strangely for him, there was silence.

"I don't do this nearly enough," he said, and had the pleasure of hearing her laugh against his ribcage. "I'm out of condition."

"Every skill takes practice," Tonks said gravely.

He rolled and stretched an arm behind his head, the thought he'd so successfully avoided rushing back to him. Freight-train style.

No. He had been there, when he was her age, had felt the baseless suspicions of the Order that he was a betrayer. He would not do Tonks that disservice just because she was...

...everything you want, said another voice, entirely new. Perfect doesn't last, and young women do not fall for men like you, it added mockingly.

He got the picture. If this was going to be perfect, he was going to wreck it. It was what he did.

But not tonight.

"Fireworks were nice, tonight," Tonks said sleepily, half-mumbling into his collarbone.

"Good cake, too. And Harry looked happy."

"Awfully nice, to give him that motorbike."

"Wasn't mine to give," he murmured. "Belonged to Sirius. Ought to go to Harry."

"You like him, don't you?"

Remus grinned. "Not like I like you, Tonks."

There was a sleepy snicker, and after a while her breathing fell even.

Try, please, Remus, try not to screw this up, he told himself. It's not even a real romance. It's just sex. This really should be easy not to screw up.

So try. Really hard. You useless git.

***