265A/N: Bet you're surprised to be reading this! I'm a bit surprised it's finally out too, to be honest. I'd give a rambling apology/explanation but the majority of you have already heard that, and you've all waited long enough for the chapter that I won't delay it much more except to emphasise how utterly sorry I am to have taken so long to update. If you're still reading this, I can't say much more than a heartfelt thanks for sticking with the story/me.
Chapter 12 is dedicated to A Faithful Fan, Hannah, StrawberryFields, Guest, and Anonamouse for their reviews (oh so long ago) on chapter 11 that I couldn't respond to in PMs. Thank you so very much!
Chapter 12 - Sirius
August 31st, 1994
September 2nd, 1994
Nymphadora Tonks stomps angrily back to her cubicle, a confused (and slightly alarmed) Joseph Proudfoot trailing tentatively behind her. She'd left Shacklebolt's office very composed, and if she wasn't so frustrated she'd congratulate herself on how much better she's got at keeping a straight face around him since their first official meeting on Monday.
Now, two days later, she's got the I-definitely-don't-resent-you-or-anything look down perfectly. Shacklebolt may have been surprised by her not-super-friendly attitude towards him at first, but she's pretty sure that he's been telling himself that it's because she wants to prove herself as serious and not-smitten with him instead of some other (more close to the mark) reason. Which she's proud of, really, because she has been able to work with him thus far without letting her resentment due to his job as Sirius' primary investigator ruin her ability to seem normal–well, ruin what's left of her ability to seem normal, because yeah, she definitely doesn't have much of it to begin with.
She has Proudfoot fooled at least, because his timid yet comforting words about the fact that he's sure she'll be able to visit Mad-Eye while he's at Hogwarts tell her he thinks her mood around Shacklebolt has to do with her not liking Mad-Eye being replaced. And really, she has absolutely no reason to correct that assumption.
In fact, it's not the Sirius case at all that has her leaving Shacklebolt's office in a mood today–it's the fact that he's told her she won't be coaching the Hit Wizards and Witches in training this week (and, by extension, won't be meeting Remus for lunch later today).
"Tonks? Tonks!"
She grits her teeth as she hears Proudfoot call out to her across the busy Auror office. She has no idea why he's so determined to follow her—well, okay, it's probably because he wants to get started on their assignment for the day together, but still. Most people don't follow after an irate Nymphadora Tonks, especially after word got out about the whole punching Dawlish thing.
"Tonks, wait up!"
She quickens her pace.
It's not that she doesn't like Proudfoot, or anything, it's just–well, he can be bloody annoying when he tries to be nice to her all the time. It's not that she doesn't like being his friend; she does, she really does. It's so nice to have someone in the office that doesn't see her as the rookie.
Yet on days like this she wishes he was a little better at realising when a woman wants to be alone. Because all she really wants to do right now is mope over the fact that she won't be seeing Remus today as she'd planned, and maybe break into the chocolate stash in her desk that she's built up for days like these. She'll definitely need a healthy dose of it to build up the motivation to owl him and break him the news–and she'll have to do that soon, if she wants him to get the letter before lunch.
Thankfully, the office is busy with morning traffic as Aurors get assignments and prepare to leave for cases, so Proudfoot is lost behind her in the general mayhem of the place. Things are spectacularly hectic due to last minute scrambling to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament and the long lasting aftermath of the World Cup fiasco, as lots of Aurors who were meant to be planning for the Triwizard Tournament have been reassigned to deal with the World Cup, leaving Aurors who were originally not going to be part of the planning (namely herself, Proudfoot, and Dawlish) to get things together for the announcement. Everyone's so bloody paranoid in the wake of the reappearance of Death Eaters that someone will try to steal the cup or attack the traveling wizards and witches from other schools or something that the Aurors have been asked to set up security for all of the tasks.
So all it really means is that she's got a logistical and planning job for the next few days as everyone in the office prepares for the tasks and transport and just everything and it means that she can't meet Remus today and she really doesn't want to have to owl him to tell him that.
She sighs as she reaches her cubicle and slumps into her chair. After a few moments of letting herself calm down and deal with the disappointment, the intensity of which she should probably find alarming, she grabs some chocolate, a quill, and some parchment and writes him a long and apologetic letter.
As has been custom since he'd owled her back about Mad-Eye in a comforting letter she'd received midday on Monday, she starts the letter Dearest Romulus and signs it Your frustrated and grumpy Nymphadora. The nicknames are ridiculous, yet when she does break the bad news they help her smile. He just has that effect on her.
His reply comes back barely an hour later, addressed Wonderful Nymphadora and signed A similarly disappointed Romulus. Proudfoot is in her cubicle when she reads the letter, and she's not quite able to hide her reaction (and by not quite she means she completely can't, because the second she reads it her hair goes bright pink and a smile forms from ear to ear that she can't suppress). She can tell that he has questions, especially when she folds the letter and sticks it in her pocket, but she brushes his curious glance off.
Later, once Proudfoot's left her office to report to Shacklebolt, she takes the letter out and rereads it, the smile that'd dulled while she worked reforming. Among the usual adorableness of his handwriting and tone and just everything, there's the stomach warming suggestion that they have dinner at his flat after work on Friday. Obviously, she's thrilled that he's suggest they see each other instead of waiting another week, and she is so not afraid to admit she practically high-fives herself when she reads his suggestion to meet at his flat, because she knows letting her in isn't a small thing with Remus. Her favourite part about the whole thing, though, are his comments about dinner, because he's offered to cook, which is completely–there isn't even a word.
She goes home that night and adds the letter to her collection, and as she falls asleep she wonders if he has one of her letters too.
~ o0o ~
Friday evening finds Nymphadora Tonks standing in only her underclothes in the bedroom of her messy flat, mountains of t-shirts, dresses, pants, and skirts spread out on every available surface in the dim room. Though moments ago she'd been frantically clawing through piles of clothes and tossing them every which way as she'd considered (and rejected) outfits, she's not moving anymore–in fact, quite the opposite.
The problem, currently, is that she's gone through every single piece of clothing she's got in her flat, and not a single one has seemed right to wear to dinner at Remus' tonight. And now, as she stands, a little under an hour before she's supposed to be there with absolutely nothing to wear, she finds herself paralysed by indecision and anxiety. She feels as though she physically can't do anything right now–she can't think straight, can't come up with a solution to the seemingly impossible situation she's found herself in, can't breathe.
It's ridiculous, she knows, to be so worked up about what to wear to a bloody dinner, and yet she can't help it. The way she feels right now–completely stuck and sort of sickeningly light and fluttery–is something she's all too familiar with, and as she realises, perhaps a bit belatedly, that she's on the precipice of a panic attack, the added fear that she'll break down and screw everything up with Remus only adds to her anxiety.
She sinks to the floor, arms around her stomach, and curls into a foetal position, trying to remind herself to breathe, just breathe. It's what her mum'd always told her, what Madam Pomfrey had always said when she'd started having these bloody episodes after Cassie's self-destructive behaviour had started all those years ago. She tries to calm down by reminding herself that it's just her body, that it's her anxiety, that it'll pass. But although she should know, rationally, that once the attack is over the causes will all seem silly in perspective, she can't quite bring herself away from the fear, the complete terror that's gnawing at her, that's bubbling inside her and threatening to spill over.
She rocks a bit, trying to focus on the sound of her breath, in and out, and after a few minutes the oxygen makes her feel a bit less faint and sick and she has the clarity and brief requisite determination to get help. Normally, she'd ride the attack out on her own, because she hates admitting her weaknesses and seeming so bloody pathetic in front of other people, but she's been looking forward to the dinner at Remus' flat since he'd suggested it Wednesday and she'll be damned if she doesn't pull herself together and go.
Knowing she's better off acting before things go to absolute shit, she forces herself up, ignoring the way it makes her head spin and stomach roll, and practically drags herself to the fireplace. There, without letting herself second-guess her decision to get help, she uses the Floo Network to contact Jane.
Usually her first go-to in any situation is Mike, but Jane's the one with more experience with her panic attacks, as they lived together at Hogwarts. Besides, she still (ridiculously, she knows) sort of resents Mike for his initial reaction to Remus, and she'd feel awkward explaining her feelings for Remus to him, even though she knows she's going to have to eventually if things keep going as well as they are.
"Jane?" She calls out a bit hoarsely once her head's appeared in Jane's living room. When there's no answer, her voice grows a bit louder and more panicked as she tries again, desperately, "Jane?"
A few moments of silence pass, and Tonks feels her eyes start to water as she considers what she'll do if Jane isn't home. Is it worth the difficulty of explaining to Mike and putting him through having to calm her down, or should she just cancel on Remus? Neither thought is at all appealing, but she's resigning herself to having to let Remus down when Jane comes into her field of vision and Tonks practically sags with relief.
"Tonks?" Jane's voice, which can almost never be described as quiet or soft though currently sounds pretty close to at least one of those things, breaks through the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind. "What's wrong? Is everything all right? Why aren't you wearing a shirt? And why's your hair gone brown? Do I need to hex someone?"
Tonks does her best to smile at her friend's incessant questioning and lets the way Jane's voice returns to normal as each question is asked distract her from her panic. Instead of coming up with something witty to say to Jane (such as that she can do the beating up for herself, thanks very much) she takes a moment to try and collect herself before speaking. To her dismay, her voice still comes out as weak, tired, as she says, "No, Jane, you don't need to hex anyone, it's just–I was, um, I sort of–I was maybe gonna have a, um, a panic attack, or something, and I just–I mean–"
But it seems panic attack was the magic phrase to switch Jane from curious friend mode to healer mode, because suddenly she's kneeling in front of the fireplace and looking at Tonks with a much more soft and calculating gaze.
"Panic attack, huh? How long's it been since your last one?"
Tonks sighs, closing her eyes. She so does not want to think about that night right now, but she knows that answering questions will be a distraction, which will hopefully help her calm down. "Um, a week and a half, or so? But before that a while."
"And what brought this one on?"
Tonks cringes and braces herself mentally to tell Jane about Remus. "I'm, well–I sort have a–well it's not a date, but I'm going to dinner...with-with a guy...who I...well–"
"Who you fancy," Jane prompts, looking slightly amused.
"Yeah," Tonks says, and she realises, ridiculously, that it's probably the first time she'd admitted her feelings for Remus out loud. "And I–I know it's ridiculous, but I couldn't find anything to wear, and I started to feel–well, paralysed, you know, like I used to when I got an owl from Mum or Cassie or when I had an assignment I felt like I couldn't do a good job on, and then I started–well, I felt all faint, you know, but I really don't–I mean the idea of having a panic attack and buggering up this dinner just added to the anxiety–"
"When are you supposed to be at Remus'?" Jane asks rather suddenly.
Tonks, not even bothering to deny that it's Remus that she's seeing, glances down to the watch she always wears around her left wrist. "Uh...half an hour?"
Jane's eyes widen to a size Tonks would probably find amusing–or just plain impressive, given that her friend can't even morph–under any other circumstances, and she screeches, incredulously, "A half hour?!"
Tonks winces, feeling a bit sheepish, and nods, slightly timidly. "So now you see my problem," she says rather dryly, but despite her tone she is, in fact, feeling much better, because talking to Jane can always calm her down, and she knows, by the look Jane's started to get, that she's going to get some help. It seems she's now activated on-a-mission mode Jane.
"Honey," Jane says, sounding half-exasperated, half-fond, "why didn't you just come to me in the first place?"
~ o0o ~
30 minutes to go:
Jane reacts about as well as Tonks expects her to when she sees the state of Tonks' clothes.
"Oh, my God, Tonks, what the hell happened here?"
Tonks shrugs sheepishly. "I, uh, I was just trying to find something to wear–"
"You would be so screwed without me," Jane says haughtily, looking around the piles in dismay before adding, distractedly, "and why didn't you just admit your feelings for Remus that day we had lunch? Merlin, it's not like I didn't know after that scene in the pub–"
Tonks blushes but says, slightly desperately, "Jane, now is so not the time–"
But Jane ignores her feeble protests and makes a rather sudden dive for something in a pile on Tonks' bed. She emerges a moment later, triumphant grin on her face, and thrusts a dark pair of jeans and something purple and strappy into Tonks' arms. "Here," she says, ushering Tonks towards the bathroom, "put this on."
23 minutes to go:
"Jane, are you sure this is the best idea? The jeans are fine but this shirt is indecently low!" Tonks calls from the bathroom, alternately pulling the shirt down to hide her midriff and pulling the shirt up to hide her cleavage.
"Just put it on," says an impatient voice from the other side of the door, "and don't you dare morph smaller lady bits."
"But I'll practically be flashing him the whole night!" Tonks protests shrilly.
The answer from the other side of the door is smug and slightly demonic. "Exactly."
19 minutes to go:
"I told you, Jane, I can just morph darker eye lashes, there's absolutely no need for pointy–"
"Stop talking or I'll smear your make up."
"But I don't even wear make up normally–"
"Nymphadora Andromeda Tonks, I will use the spell we use to subdue fidgety patients, so help me–"
"But you're already holding me down!"
14 minutes to go:
"Here," Jane says, throwing a pair of purple heels at Tonks from the closet.
"No," Tonks says immediately, crossing her arms.
"Yes."
"No. I'll trip."
"But you're so short!"
"And I'll be even shorter from the floor!"
Jane gives a melodramatic, long suffering sigh. "Fine, you can wear those sparkly trainers you have with the ribbon laces, but only if you leave that jacket here."
"But I look like a tart without the jacket," Tonks pouts.
Jane gives a louder, more long suffering sigh, but, perhaps sensing the slight tone of panic in Tonks' voice, gives a flick of her wand towards Tonks' shirt. To Tonks' relief, the garment stretches to become a more conservative style, one she wouldn't be afraid to wear to dinner with Granny Tonks.
"I love you!" She tells Jane in a sing-songy voice, and she takes the grumbling-eye-roll thing Jane does to mean she loves Tonks, too.
8 minutes to go:
"And it's just really not fair that you can morph fifty hairstyles in less than two minutes while the rest of us witches have to bother with hair potions and muggle machines and curlers and hair dye! The last time I wanted hair to my mid back I had to work for it. Work for it!" Jane rants, standing behind Tonks with her hands on her hips as Tonks tests out different colours and styles and lengths.
Tonks looks back at her friend in the mirror briefly, but Jane is far too preoccupied with her rant to notice her questioning look and give input on her hair. Assuming it means she hasn't found the right style yet, Tonks keeps trying and Jane keeps ranting.
"For years, Tonks, years I had to grow my hair out! Do you know how hard that is?! No, probably not, because you can just bloody screw up your face and try fifty different styles–wait, that's a nice colour–"
Tonks grins, realising Jane is paying attention after all, and finds that she quite agrees. She's morphed a less-garish than usual pink, which is almost sort of silvery. Now she's just got to decide length and curliness. With a sigh, she starts morphing again and Jane, never one to miss a beat, keeps ranting.
"Fifty different styles in less than two minutes and you don't even realise how good you've got it and it's just–no wait, go back, that length, yeah, just like that. But honestly, you just don't appreciate–"
Tonks grins, studying her now-chosen length and waviness from all angles. Her hair's long, about to her the base of her shoulder blades, and falls down her back in soft waves. Normally she'd never do something this put-together and girlish, but this is dinner with Remus, after all, and she sort of figures that if Jane's put in the effort to make her look this good, she might as well go the whole nine yards.
4 minutes to go:
"I just don't think you'll ever fully realise how good you have it hair wise. I mean, how could you, I suppose, but seriously, Tonks, it's so bloody unfair–"
Though Tonks is amused at Jane's continued rant, the fact that she's done getting ready and has found her purse and is now pulling on her shoes has made her think of something she's otherwise completely overlooked. "Should I bring anything, do you think? Like flowers or something?"
Jane stops mid rant and gives Tonks a look that, after years of friendship, Tonks is far too familiar with. It's the how-do-you-even-survive-on-a-daily-basis-without-m y-help look, and this is one of the strongest doses of it she's ever received.
Wordlessly and without abandoning the look, Jane walks into Tonks' kitchen and finds a bottle of white wine, which she presses into Tonks' hand with a look that now more closely resembles you-would-be-so-screwed-without-me.
0 minutes to go:
"Be safe!" Jane calls from the doorway of Tonks' flat.
Tonks rolls her eyes.
"Have fun!"
Tonks walks more quickly towards the disapparition point around the corner and does not acknowledge her friend.
"Owl me if you need anything! And don't you dare think of not coming over for breakfast to tell me all about it first thing tomorrow!"
With one final wave and another fond eye roll, Tonks leaves her flat with a faint pop and much more confidence than she'd ever have dreamed she'd have an hour ago.
~ o0o ~
Nymphadora Tonks arrives outside of Remus Lupin's flat at exactly eight o'clock, a bottle of wine clutched in one hand, the other preoccupied with twirling her ring. The anxiety Jane had so adeptly vanished almost an hour before is back now, in full force, and she takes a deep breath and forces herself to knock before it can get any worse.
The door is thrown open what seems like a ridiculously short time after she knocks, and suddenly a deliciously tousled looking Remus Lupin is stood in front of her. His by-now-typical cardigan is a forest green today, and as pathetic as it sounds, he looks more handsome than usual in it.
As she takes in the sight of him before her, and takes in his smell, which she's absurdly familiar with by now, she feels the bubbling anxiety in her stomach get replaced by a warmth, a calm. It makes her wonder, in the corner of her brain not shamelessly checking Remus out, why she'd been so bloody nervous in the first place, because it seems that it's impossible for her not to feel warm like this in his presence.
There's a moment when they both sort of stare at each other, and as it stretches on Tonks feels her cheeks warm under Remus' gaze, so she offers, a bit pathetically, "Wotcher, Remus. I brought wine."
Her voice seems to jar him from whatever thoughts he'd been distracted by, because he says, absently, "Oh, you didn't have to do that." Then, as he seems to collect himself, he says, more presently, "You look beautiful, by the way."
She blushes a bit more, but sends a silent (and slightly begrudging) thank you Jane's way. "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself."
His brow furrows at her comment and he actually looks down at his outfit in what appears to be confusion, as if he isn't sure what it is he's actually wearing, before he awkwardly smoothes his shirt down and then looks back at her and says, faintly, "Oh, thank you."
It's starting to get awkward, so she says, "Are you going to ask me in, or...?"
He blinks and the dazed look is gone. "Oh, right, sorry. Come in, please. Dinner's almost ready."
She grins as he holds the door for her and shows her inside, even though she can see the kitchen from the entry way. As they walk, she asks him, over her shoulder, "What are you making, by the way? It smells bloody amazing!"
His cheeks go a bit pink. "Thank you, Dora. It's–well, I remember that you said you liked the Fettucini Alfredo at that Italian restaurant a few weeks ago, so..."
His voice trails off and he rubs the back of his neck slightly awkwardly with a small shrug. She's almost baffled to see him so...nervous or whatever this is, and she ponders, in the back of her mind, what could be making him act so oddly.
The front of her mind doesn't give much input, however, because it is, at the moment, far too preoccupied by how sweet he is for having remembered what she likes and for going through the trouble to make it for her.
Wanting to put him at ease, she says, jokingly, "You've got high expectations to live up to after that restaurant, you know."
To her utter shock, Remus responds, with a crooked grin, "Oh, I'm pretty sure I can surpass those."
She gasps dramatically. "Was that–Remus Lupin, did I just witness confidence?"
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles good natured-ly, going back to cooking. "Don't be so surprised. It happens every now and then."
She smiles, delighted. "Seriously, though. Where is this cooking confidence coming from? You don't have a past as a chef that I don't know about, do you?"
"No," he says with a ducked head, "but I might have an old family recipe or two."
She grins at him, leaning lazily on the counter as he stirs the contents of a few pots on the stove. "You've never told me about your family, you know. Have you got any brothers? Sisters? Pets? A twin called Romulus that I don't know about?"
He snorts. "No siblings, though I did have a cat growing up. She was called Maria and she was my only friend until I went to Hogwarts."
"Maria, eh? What happened to her?"
"Oh, she's still alive," he says hastily. "Lives with my mum. Mum said I could have her if I wanted, but after Dad died and her memory started getting worse, I thought she could use the company."
Tonks smiles softly at him, honoured to hear about his family. She knows he's not the type to open up at all, even about the simple things, so she loves it when she gets the chance to hear more about him. "Do you see much of her nowadays?"
He gives her a mischievous look. "My cat or my mum?"
She glares at him.
He laughs. "Yes, I visit them most Sundays."
"I didn't know that," she says, barely suppressing a grin. Of course Remus visits his mum periodically, she thinks to herself. The amount of fabulous he is really doesn't surprise her at this point.
"There's a lot you don't know about me," he says, waggling his eyebrows at her ridiculously, and she laughs, suddenly overwhelmed by just how much she adores this man.
They fall into a comfortable silence then, and she watches him work, taking in everything she can about him: how natural he looks in the cramped kitchen; the way he holds the wooden spoon he uses to stir the pasta, long fingers wrapped loosely around the end; the way he uses the tip of his pinky finger to taste the sauce; the way his adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
After a few moments he looks up at her, catching her staring, and his face colours a bit as he says, "All right, time for you to sit down. Dinner's just about ready."
She rolls her eyes at him. "I can serve myself, Remus."
"I know," he returns, unfazed, "but what kind of a host would I be if I let a lady serve herself?" She gives him her best are-you-actually-saying-this-right-now look, but all she gets in return is a slightly sheepish grin as he says, almost apologetically, "My mother would be disgraced."
"All right, all right," she says, turning towards the small table off to the side of the kitchen. It's only then, as she turns, that she sees how carefully he's set up, and the effort he's put into this and just everything washes over her suddenly. She's more touched than she can express, and her grin makes her cheeks ache as she sits and waits for him to serve her.
~ o0o ~
Dinner is, of course, fabulous, and the pasta is far better than at the restaurant. Really, at this point, he can't do anything to surprise her. In fact, the most surprising part about how absurdly good Remus' cooking is is how unsurprised she is to realise it's so fabulous.
Now, as they sit, curled onto his couch with glasses of wine, she can't help but think of the last time she sat here, when he'd comforted her after the World Cup.
She smiles to herself as she takes a drink, before saying, "So, how's work been?"
His face lights up. "It's been going well. Mr. Campbell keeps sending me the most ludicrous books, though, and I have to find gentle ways to critique them–"
"What, no scathing reviews from Sam Wingfoot, then?"
He ducks his head. "No, I can never bring myself to do it. It's just like why it was hard being a teacher sometimes. I mean, I know someone invested so much time and effort into these books, so how can I tear that apart?"
She nods. "I suppose that makes sense."
He smiles at her, asking over his glass, "And how's work been for you?"
"It's busy. And boring. A horrible combination, really. The whole office's been charged with making the Triwizard Tournament safe, which is ridiculous because people die in the tournament and there's only so much we can do," she explains.
"Yes, I forgot, is that going on this year?"
She hums out a yes. "Know any former students that'll sign up?"
He laughs. "Pretty much all of Gryffindor House."
"Drawn in by the eternal glory, eh?" She asks with a cheeky grin. "What about you? Tell me you wouldn't put your name in for eternal glory!"
"No, that would have been my friends in school. Honestly, I'm not sure why I was made a Gryffindor. I rather think the hat might've done it because it thought I'd have better luck making friends who were brave–"
She rolls her eyes at him. "Oh, right, because you're not brave at all, Mr. Order-of-the-Phoenix-Member."
The look he gives her says he doesn't buy it, but the look she returns must dissuade him from trying to argue with her, so he says instead, "What about you? A bit impatient to be a Hufflepuff, no?"
She laughs. "That's what Mum and everybody else said. I was quite a troublemaker in my early years especially, but after fifth year..." she trails off, not quite sure how to finish, before explaining, "well, once I decided I wanted to be an Auror, I worked very hard. Though that doesn't change the fact that everyone was surprised that I was a Hufflepuff in the first place."
He puts his drink down and shifts to face her more. "What about the rest of your family, then?"
She quietly kicks off her shoes to bring her legs up in front of her so she can face him fully. "Well, my dad was a Hufflepuff and everything, it's just...I don't know, everyone's all superstitious about Black blood, you know? And since mum and Cassie were Slytherins, they just sort of suspected the same for me."
She's a bit nervous to admit this part, because most of the time people get a little weird when she mentions her Black ancestry, but although Remus' eyes go sort of thoughtful for a split second when she mentions it, he seems to brush it off, saying, "Both of my parents were Gryffindors, so I was determined to make them proud. I didn't think it'd be enough to get me in, though."
She laughs. "I straight up asked the hat not to put me in Slytherin, despite how much I wanted to be like Cassie. I was afraid of my Black blood in the end, I suppose."
Remus' smile turns decidedly thoughtful, and in the moments of silence that follow he seems to be having an internal debate over what to say next, if his periodic opening and then closing of the mouth are any indication.
He stalls for a bit but eventually says, softly, "Not all Blacks are Slytherins, you know."
It's her turn to freeze a bit as she says, slowly, quietly, "You mean Sirius?"
Remus nods slightly, before seeming to take a deep breath an fix her with a very calculating gaze. She's not at all sure what he's looking for or hoping to see, but she recognises that this is sort of a now-or-never moment.
She's suspected, all along, that Remus knew Sirius. He had to have, if he was an Order member and a friend of the Potters, but she's never really let herself stop to think about what his opinion of Sirius would be. She knows, logically, that he's likely to hold the same opinion as everyone else, but she also doesn't think he'd bring Sirius up if he held a deep-seated hatred for him.
So she goes out on a limb, saying, a bit nervously, "Sirius was always a huge role model for me, growing up. He was practically my favourite person other than Cassie..."
Her voice trails off, because really, what else can she say without saying too much? She was hoping–foolishly, she realises–that he'd have some obvious reaction that would tell her whether she's on the right track about Sirius or whether she should drop it and pretend it didn't happen. His carefully controlled features, however, give nothing away, and she really should've suspected that, because he's Remus Lupin, after all.
Not only does he not react, but he doesn't really say anything, either, and her nerves are making her hands shake, so she puts her glass down and asks, quietly, "Remus?"
He glances up at her briefly, but his eyes skitter away a split second later and he fixes his gaze on his knees as he speaks. "It's just...perhaps I should start at the beginning. When I went to Hogwarts, I had three best friends, the other Gryffindor boys from my year. Their names were James, Peter, and Sirius."
"You were a Marauder!" She blurts out suddenly, without thinking. The stories, the one Sirius used to tell her and Cassie, come flooding back from somewhere deep in her mind she hadn't realised still existed.
It's funny to her, really, that she finds out Remus is Sirius' age and his old friend from school, and her first thoughts are of the pranks Sirius used to make her and Cassie laugh over. But really, to her, that's what stands out. He was Sirius' friend. They were in school together. The boys Sirius used to tell them about, his friends Moony and Prongs and Wormtail, all come back and click in her mind.
Remus is looking at her with an unreadable expression. "Yes, I–I was."
She grins at him, realising she should explain. "Sirius used to brag all the time about his school days–about you guys. I was pretty young when he came over and I don't remember all of his stories, but I do remember that name. Well, I didn't remember it until just now, but it sort of came back."
Remus' smile is sort of distant as he says, fondly, "That sounds like Sirius. He was always so–Merlin, and to think that I thought he was a murderer for years–"
"Thought?" She asks quietly. He looks up, seeming slightly surprised at his words, and instead of letting him answer she repeats, hopefully, "As in you don't think that anymore?"
His frame is a bit rigid, and she realises, belatedly, that this must be as hard for him as it is for her. He is, after all, making himself very vulnerable, his beliefs very vulnerable. She's an Auror, for crying out loud, and if she were someone else she might use all of this against him somehow.
Wanting to comfort him despite the fact that a part of her thinks she shouldn't have to, she says, "It's okay, Remus. You can tell me. It's not like I'm going to go tell Kingsley Shacklebolt or something–"
And thankfully he cuts her off, saying, "No, I know that, it's just...I'm not sure, given your position at the Ministry, that it's best I say."
She's hurt, there's no denying it, and her voice betrays it as she says, "Don't you trust me?"
"I do. Dora, of course I do," he says quickly, firmly, "I do trust you, and that is the problem. I don't want you put in a position where your interests might be compromised."
She shakes her head with a rueful grin. "They already are, Remus. I mean, I've always believed that Sirius was innocent. Mum believes him, at least, and Cassie always did, even when she was older, and I always–well, I've always listened to them, I guess. And I know that it's a huge risk to my job to even admit that, but–well, I've got to stay true to what I believe in. I'm a Hufflepuff, remember?"
He pauses a moment more, face unreadable, and she holds her breath as the seconds tick by and he seems to consider her words. She's just about resigned to the fact that, despite how far they've come, he's really not ready to trust her like this, when he says, slowly, "Well, if you're sure, then let me tell you a bit about your cousin Sirius."
~ o0o ~
"Dora?"
Remus Lupin's voice sounds as if it's miles away to Nymphadora Tonks, and she hums quietly in discontent as the sound of it lulls her from her slumber.
"Are you awake?"
She opens her eyes groggily, the room swimming in and out of focus, and says, around a yawn, "I suppose."
Remus' face, which looks amused as it comes into view, reminds Tonks that she must have, once more, fallen asleep on his sofa. The fact that he's still sitting here this time, however, and the fact that their half-full glasses of wine are still on the table next to them, tells her that she's only been asleep for a few seconds. In fact, she can almost remember drifting off to the gentle timbre of Remus' voice as he told her about Sirius in their school days; she'd asked to hear more about them as boys after he'd finished explaining how Sirius was innocent.
Remus is grinning at her. "You suppose?"
She stretches her legs and neck as she sits up more fully. "Yes, I'm awake. How long was I asleep?"
His grin widens. "I don't know. There I was taking the time to tell you all about your cousin and you don't even do me the common courtesy of staying awake."
She rolls her eyes at him, covering another yawn with her hand, and then returns, petulantly, "Well, if you want me to stay awake next time, make your flat a less comfortable temperature and don't feed me first and have such a gentle voice."
After she says it, she's fairly certain that fully-awake-Tonks would never say something like that, and she's also thinking that future-Tonks won't thank her for this momentary word vomit, but his smile erases those thoughts as he says, "You're perfectly welcome to go back to sleep if you want, but I didn't know if you had to be anywhere tomorrow."
She yawns again, rubbing a hand over her face this time, before saying, "No, you're right, I should go. Jane made me promise to have breakfast with her tomorrow."
He smiles at her, standing and offering her a hand up. "Can you apparate home?"
"Hmm?" She asks, too distracted by the warmth and sturdiness of his hand to process his words for a few seconds. "Oh, yeah, I'll be fine–"
He looks skeptical. "Are you sure?"
She laughs this time. "Remus, I've been trained to apparate in and out of about five hundred different potential scenarios, not one of which would prove less of a challenge than apparating while tired. I think I'll be fine."
He still looks slightly concerned, but he concedes, "All right, if you're sure."
She grins at him, picking her shoes up and following him back to the kitchen, where he puts the glasses carefully in the sink. He starts to head over to the table, where the half-full bottle of wine sits, but she says, "No, Remus, keep it."
He looks like he might protest, so she says, "Really. I never drink wine, and it's not like you'll be coming to my flat to eat because I can't cook. So even if you won't drink it yourself, at least save it here for when I come over again."
The second after she says it she scolds herself for sounding so sure that he'll even want her to come over again, but she's far too exhausted to find a way to rectify what she's said so she figures she'll just have to make up for it another time. Really, at this point, her goal is to get out as quickly and politely as possible, before she says something worse.
"Thank you, Dora," he says, picking the jacket she'd managed to smuggle out of her flat up from the back of her chair and helping her into it.
"No, thank you. Seriously," she returns. "Dinner was delicious. I'd ask for a recipe, only I'd never be able to cook it myself."
"I could teach you sometime, if you wanted," Remus offers.
"Really?" She asks, incredulous. "You'd be risking your personal safety–"
He gives her a look. "Come on, Dora, I'm sure it's not that bad–"
She gives him a look. "Want to bet?"
He grins. "Maybe not...I did lose my last bet to you, after all. Even if you cheated."
She swats him on the arm. "Hey! I thought we agreed morphing a larger stomach was fair game since you didn't tell me I couldn't!"
He just laughs, opening the door for her. "Thank you for coming over, Dora. It was–"
"Fabulous? Life changing? Incredible?" She interjects.
He laughs. "I was going to say lovely, but those work too."
She walks past him, out of the door of his flat, before turning back to him and getting serious for a moment, saying, "Thank you for telling me about Sirius. It's—I'm not sure there's a word for how amazing it is to hear he's innocent. I always believed him, it's just–well, it's one thing to have blind faith, and another to be able to back it up."
His smile is slightly sad as he says, "I only wish I had the same faith you did all along."
She reaches for his hand. "Really, Remus, you can't blame yourself. Anyone in your situation would have believed he was guilty. If I hadn't been eight years old, I probably would've too."
Remus squeezes her hand, saying, "Still, it would mean so much to him if he knew that there was someone–three someones–who believed in him all along."
"You'll just have to tell him about how fabulous I am when you write him next, then," she jokes.
"You could write him yourself, if you wanted."
"Really?" She asks, voice betraying how much she hopes he's serious.
He nods. "I could put it in with one of mine. You just have to–I mean, no names, no details, etcetera. Just in case."
"Right," she says, making a show of taking on a dramatic air. "Secret agent style."
He laughs. "Yes. Think Mad-Eye at his most paranoid. And–not a word to anyone, you understand."
"Of course not," she says, face as genuine as possible. "You don't have to worry, Remus. You can trust me."
Her eyes must betray how much she wants him to trust her, needs him to trust her, and he sounds almost guilty as he says, "I know. I do. It's just hard for me to remember that all the time."
She squeezes his hand one last time before grabbing her wand in preparation to disapparate. "I'll just have to keep reminding you, then."
The intensity of the gaze he sends her then sends a surge of something to her stomach, and before she can think twice about it or stop herself she launches herself forward, into his arms.
Her sudden hug takes him off guard, but it doesn't take long for him to wrap his arms around her. His voice is decidedly amused as he says, "Goodnight, Dora."
"'Night, Remus," she says into his chest, before pulling back to look him in the eyes as she says, "Thank you, again. For dinner and faith in Sirius and just–well, everything."
He gives her arms a squeeze before letting his fall back to his sides. "I'll see you Wednesday?"
The faint hope in his tone makes the butterflies start back up in her stomach (and okay, maybe they were never really gone in the first place, sue her), but instead of letting things get serious she responds, "If Shacklebolt knows what's good for him."
Then, knowing they've put off goodbye for far too long already, she gives one last thank you and disapparates, smile still firmly on her face.
That night, as she lays in bed, she replays all of the things Remus did this time in her head. The amount of time he must've put into dinner, into setting up and making sure everything was just perfect. The way the conversation had just flowed and flowed and flowed, keeping her at his flat until past midnight, causing her to fall asleep at the very end. The huge, incredible, unquantifiable amount of trust he'd put in her, telling her about Sirius.
She smiles to herself as she drifts off, the implications of what he's told her swimming through her mind. He trusts her. He must, if he could tell her those things, things he'd never even told the Auror office.
Her final thoughts before sleep take her are of his stare at the door, the soft intensity in his eyes, the way he'd made her feel so–she's not even sure. Something good, something important, she supposes. The last thing that runs through her mind is the very real possibility that, if he keeps looking at her like that, she might not be responsible for what she does next.
A/N: What did you think of this one? I know it might seem early for Remus to place such trust in her, but I think if she was the first person to admit she believed in Sirius, it wouldn't be as much of stretch for him. Partially because it's Tonks, and Mad-Eye, who Remus respects, has demonstrated trust in her, but more so because I think Remus would feel very guilty for not believing Sirius, and would feel obligated to clear his name, for Sirius' sake, especially to someone important to him.
Anyway, I hope that makes some sense. And with regard to chapter 13, I can make no promises about when I'll update, but be assured that this story will be finished at some point, even if it takes years.
Thanks for reading, and keep your eyes out on Wednesdays ;)