13Disclaimer: Really? We need to do this again? If I owned Harry Potter, the world would be a much scarier place.
A/N: I guess you could call this a rewrite of Omnipotence from an adult's mind. It's probably nowhere near as good. There is no evidence for any of this piece. In fact, only about 20% is officially canon.
Handyman - Lorraine Mariner
"Ideally, he will be a handyman. A strong tea-drinking, red meat-eating man, who can taste the difference between brake fluid and anti-freeze. A time-keeping, manual-reading man, who owns one suit. Who knows how to stroke a dog, stoke a fire, hold a pint. Yes a barbecuing, home-brewing man of few words. Forget toolboxes, I'm holding out for a van. And on days like these when water leaks, he'll take my head in his hands and say nothing has happened here that can't be set straight by a spirit level, that cannot be eased back into place by the sole of this sturdy boot."
Her husband was never supposed to be a man who wore grey cardigans. He was certainly not supposed to team them with slacks. He was not supposed to own only one black suit. He was not supposed to wear it with a bowtie. He was supposed to have wild hair in a shade unknown to nature, wear slashed skinny jeans, and take her to The Weird Sisters gigs.
He was supposed to know more about playing a bass guitar than cricket. He was supposed to support a Quidditch team - which, admittedly, her husband did do, but only halfheartedly and even then, only because the Holyhead Harpies were seven women in Lycra.
The dream man could not be further from the reality of a marriage to Remus Lupin.
Tonks knew she was not the domestic goddess her mother had tried to turn her into almost as soon as she had flashed her the second-hand diamond on her finger, but the dream man was not supposed to be a better cook than she was. His lasagna was not supposed to be the highlight of her week. He was not supposed to whip up a batch of scones at a moment's notice or make her eat broccoli with nearly every meal because; "It's a super-veg, Dora."
The dream man wasn't supposed to have longer eyelashes than her. He was not supposed to have soul-piercing charcoal coloured eyes. He was not supposed to have the same messy fringe that he had had cut in at age ten.
He was supposed to be just as clumsy as she was. He wasn't supposed to follow her about the house, repairing her broken china with a 'woe is me' expression. He wasn't supposed to be able to dance the Tango Argentina.
He was supposed to hold his drink. He was not supposed to slur after three shots. He was supposed to throw wild parties. He wasn't supposed to sing Pretty Vacant in the shower when he thought she couldn't hear him. He wasn't supposed to steal her shampoo or refuse to grow stubble.
He wasn't supposed to be a dark creature either. He wasn't supposed to require a potion which he could never quite perfect. He wasn't supposed to sheepishly ask her every month if she'd give it a shot. Her mother was supposed to adore him and the dream man would charm Andromeda Tonks until her unusually critical eye was blinded.
But a marriage to Remus Lupin had its plus-points. He was neat and he knew useful things like how to treat infections, or how to poach an egg, or where their legal documents were kept.
He could use Muggle inventions and repair them when they wouldn't respond to a simple charm. He could keep up a pretence of normality in front of their neighbours. He could drive his mother's clapped out Volkswagen. He understood Muggle money and knew how many pennies made a pound.
He had a constant supply of tooth-whitening chewing gum. He always tasted of spearmint and his long canines shone eerily - the reason he always smiled with his mouth clamped tightly shut like a small child.
Though he was unnervingly charismatic, his disease had never enamored him to his mother-in-law, who held her tongue on the subject of her daughter's choice of husband and doled out comments about cobwebs and tarnished silver instead. His patience held fast. If his wife looked as though she was in difficulty, he would step in with an icy politeness that silenced the room. He understood that the only person allowed to lose their temper with Andromeda was Tonks.
He remembered her friends' birthdays and anniversaries when she did not and always played along when she pretended that she did not need reminding. He bought wonderful presents, knowing what she wanted and squirreling his money away for months on end.
He was very careful with money. His income came in Muggle form from his mother every Monday without fail. As a result, Tonks found her financial expenses managed by an expert who expressly forbade her to buy the red leather jacket she had had her eye on for the last six months when she owned one perfectly functional in black (and then bought it for her birthday). She was not allowed to make purchases of over twenty galleons without consulting him. She was not allowed to waste food and was forced to eat the whole sack of porridge oats she had bought on a health kick which lasted three days. After three months of breakfasting on porridge and begging him to throw them away, Lupin continued to refuse her.
He was inherently chivalrous and though he knew she despised it and thought it a form of sexism, he continued to open doors for her, pull a seat for her, and (most infuriatingly) walk on the side of the pavement closest to the road. She rolled her eyes at him, but glowed when her friends expressed their envy.
Remus Lupin was also, she was to find out, a man of his word. He delivered on each and every promise he made, no matter how trivial. This sometimes brought less than favourable results. If he had decided to act, no matter how rashly, it was almost impossible to talk him out of it. Usually a placid and docile creature, he responded to rational thought and logic. Angered, it was impossible to reason with him. When he said he was going to do something, he usually did it. Even if it meant breaking her heart.
He introduced her to music she had never heard of. His punk records largely remained inside their covers, hidden in the attic in a large cardboard box, but he played the music of Louis Armstrong, Fats Waller, Duke Ellington, and Glenn Miller from seemingly dusk 'til dawn.
Lupin had strange hobbies. He liked to read, Tonks had known since the evening she met him, and she was fascinated by the way in which he turned his pages. He would lick the tip of his index finger and flick the top right corner of the page. She had tried it herself and found it hindered her immensely. He grew rhubarb and only rhubarb. He collected skulls. He had, at apparently a young age, been something of a fan of decidedly odd and somewhat dangerous animals who would drink his blood as soon as look at him. He brought them home and kept them in tanks. He also turned out to be a very talented pianist.
He told her he had given up smoking, but just occasionally, when he was stressed, she could smell tobacco in the air. She was convinced that was the reason he kept spearmint chewing gum on his person at all times.
As a husband, he was many things - a heartbreaker, a cook, a talented musician, a werewolf, a collector, a dancer, an accountant, a secretary, a spy.
And yet, despite all that he was, all aspects of Remus Lupin came under one heading to the most important person in his world. She stood in the doorway as the sunrise cast a dappled pale yellow glow over the duck egg coloured room, and watched him rock slowly back and forth in a chair that creaked slightly, shushing the tiny baby he had wrapped in a faded cornflower blue blanket. Tonks couldn't help but think that he was everything a Dad should be - frank, sensible, embarrassing, reliable, adventurous, compassionate, talented, brave.
But most importantly, he was a handyman - capable of fixing any problem the child should encounter, whether it be with a sprit-level, a wand, sharp eyesight, a biting retort, or open arms and a grey cardigan that begged to be nestled into.