Coming Home

He’d never been so furious, nor felt so wronged...

so ashamed.

No sooner had he apparated from the doorstep of Grimmauld Place than Harry’s words echoed back at him- "I’d be ashamed of you". He looked so like James.

Remus felt stung, old, foolish.

Harry’s face followed him- that terrible expression. How let down, how disgusted, and how accusing he had looked.

He remembered the feel of Nymphadora in his arms.

......................................................

Softly- he pushed open the door.

He began to feel pathetically sheepish, even nervous.

It was very late. The whole house was silent; perhaps they were all asleep. He clicked the door shut quietly behind him and began to pull of his cloak. It was blessedly warm inside the Tonkses’ house. A faint relief washed over him.

He heard someone move in the living room, but he couldn’t see much through the door. Then, he stopped moving abruptly, holding his cloak outstretched toward the coat rack in one hand. His heart did a giddy, nervous, childish leap in his chest.

She stood in the doorway, her figure a sharp silhouette framed by the faint moonlight glowing in the room behind her.

"Nymphadora."

He had meant to say it pleadingly, as an apology, but it came out as a relieved sigh.

"REMUS!" She hurtled through the kitchen and threw herself at him, nearly knocking him over as she tossed her arms around his neck. He dropped his cloak.

"My God, where have you been?" she asked, pulling back to look into his face, revealing to him the traces of worry that had begun to their mark her own.

"I..." he hesitated, "I was afraid," he murmured in barely a whisper. "I’m sorry, Dora.... I...."

She sighed over his stammering and leaned once more against him.

"Thank God you’re alright. I was so worried," her voice trailed off contentedly. He was shocked- relived- to find her leaning on him again so quickly, asking no more questions, trusting so easily that he was back to stay.

He ran his fingers through her hair, which grew a little longer where he touched it, and then sank back down. A terrible surge of affection burned through him.

"I love you," he murmured into her almost electrically warm hair.

"I love you too," she returned rather groggily- it seemed that she was close to falling asleep standing there. "I am soooo very tired, though. D’you think we could go to bed, now?"

He chuckled, feeling at the same time how tired he was, standing there in warm safety, and thinking that she must not have slept since he’d left.

"That’s a good idea. If we fell asleep here I’m sure I’d drop you."

She laughed, pulling away and taking his hand- "And that might not be good for the baby."

He felt the strange mix of trepidation, excitement, guilt, and joy that he was gradually becoming accustomed to feeling at any mention, especially by Nymphadora, of their baby.

She pulled him by his hand out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She tripped on the second stair up and he caught her, laughing, and kissed her.

"Should I carry you?" he teased, keeping his voice down so as not to wake her parents.

She shoved him.

"‘Reckon I can make it up a flight of stairs by myself, thanks," she tossed her head haughtily.

For that, he scooped her off the ground and carried her up the stairs and into their room, where he set her neatly on the mattress. God, he was tired. She huddled under the covers, laughing silently.

He took off his shoes and socks, but didn’t bother changing otherwise before climbing into the bed and curling beside her. She fit perfectly against him. He set one hand over her heart- it joyed him so to feel another heart beating beside him- and with the other found her stomach, where he imagined he felt a third life beating. She was warm and miraculous and asleep in only a few moments.

He had never been so grateful to have been yelled at and called a coward in his life.