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The air is hot and muggy and Remus’s hair is sticking to the back of his neck. He’s got a headache from clenching his jaw.
Tonks laughs.
He grinds his teeth.
Everything spins when his hand is tugged away from him. His eyes focus on the thief, his wife.
His young, pregnant wife.
“C’mon, Remus,” she says, forcing him to sway with the music. “We’ve hardly danced all night!” He swallows back his discomfort and puts his hand on her waist. He didn’t want to go the bloody wedding. He’s terrified for her life.
His was meaningless before he turned five. Hers is coming to an end, what with the monster invading her body and his worthless soul being tied to hers.
The music swells with something jazzy and upbeat. Tonks grips him harder.
“I love you,” she murmurs, holding him tight. It’s agony, knowing what he’s done to her. He’s a foolish, weak, lecherous man, and he ensnared her, cursed her to a miserable life.
Now there’s a baby she insists on keeping.
Remus’s head dips to meet hers. His nose falls against her long, platinum blonde hair. It smells like honeysuckle and berries, a blend of floral and fruity that’s all hers. He once ached for that scent but it makes him sick. He shouldn’t be allowed to be this close to her.
He should never have allowed their marriage to take place, or the events that followed.
“Do you remember when we went dancing in that dodgy pub?”
Remus melts into her, recalling the memory fondly. He’d half-fallen for her by then, and had been thrilled to be assigned to the mission with her. They danced like this, hips touching, her hand on his waist, and one of his hands on the small of her back. The other, like tonight, was laced with hers. It was the closest they’d ever been and he’d fought with himself, aching for more and ashamed at his want.
Look at where it led them, he thinks bitterly, as her face settles against his chest. The music makes him sick. The overbearing heat inside the tent is burning him from the inside out.
A bright blue light interrupts his melancholy thoughts. All remaining hopes of safety dissipate with Kingsley’s news.
The cracks of Disapparition and Apparition tear through the air. Remus can’t think of anything else but Tonks. He’s got to get her to safety or die trying.
Curses fly across the tent, setting fire to the decorations within. Rapid movement from the corner of his eye spurs him into action. “Tonks!” Remus shouts, pulling her back from the assailants.
“I’ve – got – to – fight!”
She struggles against his grip but he’s stronger. He snatches her wand away, rendering her almost powerless, and stuffs it into his pocket.
Remus drags her, kicking and screaming, away from the fray. “We’ve got to go,” he gasps, fighting her. “Not—”
“DUCK!”
Remus sees the green light almost too late. He dodges a Killing Curse and throws his body against a bush, taking Tonks down with him.
“Give me my wand,” Tonks growls, hands clutching at his pocket.
“We need go to—”
“—we need to fight—”
“—not when you’re bloody pregnant, Nymphadora,” he says harshly. “Not unless you want to lose whatever is in there.” He gestures at her midsection, and as a purple, sizzling ribbon cuts over their heads, he rolls her against the ground and casts a Protego.
Tonks’s hair is no longer blonde and long, but acid orange and short. She’s red-faced and a smear of dirt crosses her nose. Her hand is outstretched.
“Give me my wand, Remus.”
“Protego!” he cries, rolling them around as they avoid another Killing Curse.
“Dora, please, please,” he begs. “It’s not worth it. You’re not worth it.” Something in her gaze shifts but her hand finds the pocket where her wand is.
“On three,” she says, pocketing her wand, “we stand and go.” Remus nods curtly, shooting out another Shield Charm, and Tonks counts down.
“One, two, three—”
There are curses and jinxes all around. Remus twists his torso, watching a tree fall and smolder, and takes Tonks’s wrist as he turns on his heel.
The silence on the moors is eerily jarring. They land on the top step of the old, ramshackle cottage Remus once lived in. It’s lonely and safe, for now.
Fat, salty beads of sweat drip down his brow. Tonks storms into the cottage and slams the door behind her; Remus’s fists ball at his sides. They’ve narrowly escaped death and she has the gall to be furious with him.
Then he hears her crying. Guilt wells up in his body and he steels himself before going through the weatherworn door. She’s on the lumpy, moth-eaten sofa, curled up into a ball and sobbing into a cushion.
“I’m sorry,” he says automatically.
“For what?”
“I shouldn’t have . . .” He struggles and scuffs his toe against the scratched floorboards. “I took your wand.”
“I was being stupid.”
He stays silent.
“Can you come here, please?”
Her face is blotchy and her eyes are pink. Remus joins her on the sofa, letting her lean into him. His blood is still pumping from their narrow escape; he realizes how close they were to dying.
Unthinkingly, he drops a kiss on the top of her head, now sporting her natural, limp mousy brown. He can’t look at her in the face but he’s holding her for dear life, frightened she’ll disappear. His hand drops to her abdomen, absentmindedly stroking the flat surface, equal parts appalled and fascinated by the hold the infinitesimal creature within has on him.
A bewildering twinge of pain pierces him. He’s never going to be the kind of man his wife and child need. They’re better off without him.
He wonders if any Killing Curses would’ve come their way if he hadn’t been standing next to her. A lump grows in his throat; Tonks is too good to be wasting her life on him. Their child, even if by some miracle is born healthy, will be better off without a father of whom they will always be ashamed.
He almost wishes a Killing Curse had struck him dead, to spare his wife and child from a miserable life with him.
“We’re alive,” Tonks says softly, nestling her face into Remus’s shoulder. “Can we . . . do you think we could dance before we go to bed? I want to feel normal.”
Remus won’t fight her on this; it’s such a simple request. He flicks his wand at the old record player in the living room and lets the tinkling piano fill the room. He helps Tonks up to her feet, moves around the furniture, and takes her into his arms.
“I love you, Dora,” he whispers, holding her against him. He’s forming a plan; he’ll convince Tonks to move in with her parents and then he’ll leave her.
It will be excruciating. It will be agony. It will be the only decision he can make that will salvage whatever future she has, and that of their child.
It will be the last way he tells her he loves her, by letting her go.