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Nymphadora Tonks has holes in her boots.
It’s the last thing she needs that awful June evening, after she’s spent the day patrolling Hogsmeade, while getting drenched to the bone. She has chilly, dripping feet, and to add to the misery, her lifeless, brown hair is stuck to her soaking face, making her itch. She feels and looks like a drowned rat, and all she wants is a hot shower and her dry, cozy bed.
When she stomps past Madam Rosmerta to go up to her room at The Three Broomsticks, her home for close to nine months, she nearly misses the shabby, forlorn werewolf whose near-empty flagon of butterbeer means he’s been waiting awhile. Tonks would’ve missed him, had she skipped the glance she took in the mirror on her way through the pub. She took in her filthy appearance and caught Remus’s weary gaze; she would’ve recognized his tired, but watchful eyes anywhere.
She hates that after all these months, the first he sees of her is a style that can only be termed rodent chic, and she’s got the pink-tipped nose and watery eyes to complete the ensemble. Yet she can’t deny the way Remus’s eyes became molten and dark when he saw her. If only a look was enough to prove what she’s known for over a year; he wants her as much as she wants him.
She hears creaky footsteps behind her on the watery trek to her room. Clutching her wand tightly, she turns the corner and stops short of her door.
“Remus, if that’s you, tell me you’ve changed your mind or leave me alone.”
The footsteps disappear. Her dripping robes create a puddle at her feet, with fat drops of water smacking the wooden floorboards. A shadow dances behind her; it moves closer.
“You’re soaking.”
Tonks whips around. Droplets of water fly across the corridor walls as she trains her wand on Remus.
“I haven’t seen you in months and that’s all you have to say to me?”
Remus holds out a paper bag. “I brought you something.”
The black lettering on the bag bears the name of a Welsh bakery he’d taken her to over a year ago, before she ruined everything by telling him how she felt. They’d come off an overnight mission, ravenous and cheerful from having spent all night talking. On a whim, he’d Apparated her to a town whose name she couldn’t pronounce and bought her Welsh cakes and tea for breakfast. It was sudden and sweet, and the way Remus looked at her then was the way he looks at her now: full of longing and regret.
The window at the end of the corridor rattles with the sound of hail pattering against its panes. Remus lowers his hand and the paper bag hangs at his side.
“Well?” Tonks demands. “Have you changed your mind?”
Remus shakes his head. “I’ll go,” he says, dropping the bag to the floor. “This is for you.” He’s about to turn on his heel when Tonks stops him.
“Wait, Remus—”
He faces her, his gaze smoldering in the lamplight. Tonks knows she’ll hurt again but it’s been almost three months since she’s seen him and she misses him too much to care that she’ll regret it in the morning when he leaves.
“Come in?”
Remus’s lips almost twitch into a smile. Tonks aches for him; he’s shabbier than ever and needs a good shave, but underneath the greying beard and lines on his face, he’s still the man she’s fallen hopelessly in love with. He picks the bag up off the floor and follows her inside her room, immediately helping her take her wet clothes and boots off.
She wishes he were undressing her for another purpose. He’s gentle, unclasping her robes for her and murmuring Drying Charms and Cleaning Charms on them to get the worst of the rain and mud out. When her jumper comes off, it sticks to her shirt and both garments come crashing down to the floor. She’s standing in front of him with drenched trousers and a tattered, wet bra.
Remus’s hands come to rest on her waist. His calloused palms are warm against her icy skin and he shudders, rubbing his thumbs along her flesh. Her stomach flips violently; she’s never been this exposed to him.
“You should shower,” he tells her, his voice husky and low. His grip on her loosens. “I’ll start a fire for you and get the kettle going.”
Tonks imagines herself taking everything off in front of him, making him see all of her, just to know what he’s missing, but she doesn’t want to scare him off just yet. A night of holding her against his chest, like he did on his birthday, will be enough to keep him away for another few months or more. She watches Remus’s hands fall back to his sides and she stifles the disappointed sigh of losing his touch.
Remus finds the kettle and Tonks goes to the shower. She can pretend they’re together like this; he’s puttering about, taking care of domestic things, and when she’s out of the shower he’ll have tea and cakes for her. They’ll have a little more to eat and then tuck into bed, as if they were a real couple.
They’re not, of course, and they won’t be unless Remus gets over his hang-ups. Tonks finishes her shower, dries off, and dresses in her faded, tartan trousers and a threadbare shirt. She had half a mind to dress in something more tantalizing, but Remus won’t be tempted by tiny garments. She can’t seduce the fear out of him.
The small dining table in her room is clean and ready for her. Remus made tea and the fire he started is crackling merrily in the fireplace. He took his cloak off, and though his robes were thinner than ever, he appears comfortable as he sits and sips his tea.
Despite his best efforts (or so she assumes), his face lights up when he sees her, but the momentary happiness leaves before she can appreciate his joy at their reunion. This is what it will be, she thinks sadly; he’ll spend the night with her and then leave again.
“You haven’t asked why I’m here,” he says, pushing a plate of Welsh cakes toward her. She takes one and shrugs.
“Does it matter?” she retorts, seeing the flash of pain cross his face. “Last time it was your birthday, before then it was Christmas, and you left before I woke up both times. It doesn’t matter why you’re here if you’re just going to leave.” She nibbles on the tender, flaky cake and savors the cinnamon sugar on her tongue. “That’s your plan, isn’t it? Use me and leave?”
She regrets the words as soon as she says them. Remus retreats into himself, closing his eyes and clasping his hands tightly.
“I don’t want to leave,” he says, looking away from her, “but you know I must. I’m not the right man for you.”
“Then why are you here?”
Remus looks up for a fraction of a second, his lips pressed together and his honey brown eyes somber and downturned.
“I missed you.”
Tonks stops mid-bite to gape at him. “You missed me . . . so you came to see me?”
Remus nods. “You’re my closest friend, Tonks. I wanted to see you and I know I’m being selfish—”
“—so you bought me these Welsh cakes to make yourself feel better?” His silence and pink-tipped ears betray the truth. Tonks shudders with a shallow, shaky inhale. “Don’t you see that being with me is enough? Don’t you know I would’ve wanted to see you, even if you came empty-handed? I want you, Remus, only you.” She slides her hand across the sticky table and taps her fingers on Remus’s sleeve. He stares at her hand for a few seconds, and then his fingers find hers.
“This could be us, you know,” she murmurs, her heart racing as Remus rubs his thumb along her wrist. “I want to be more than just your friend.”
“I’m too old for you.”
“12 years isn’t that big of an age gap.”
“I’m too poor—”
“Didn’t I just tell you I don’t care if you’re empty-handed?”
“—and I’m too dangerous.”
“I don’t care,” she says with a sigh, gripping his hand harder, “but I don’t want to argue tonight. I never know if this will be the last time I’ll see you . . . I don’t want my last memory of you to be . . .”
It terrifies her, how much she’s missed him, how worried she is that he’ll die rather than giving her a chance. Without a second thought she gets up from her seat and wraps her arms around him. “Please stay this time,” she pleads. “You don’t have to go back. I don’t want to lose you.”
Slowly, his arms come up from his lap and he snakes them around her waist, pulling her closer. His ear is pressed against the middle of her chest; his soft breathing is quiet and shallow.
“I won’t go back,” says Remus, “but this doesn’t change that we can’t—”
“Where will you go?”
“Albus will have something for me tomorrow night.”
Tonks wants to march up to the castle that moment to demand a meeting with Dumbledore. Whatever mission he’s got for Remus, she wants to know it will be safer than the werewolf camps. He lets go of her and brushes the hair away from his eyes.
“I wasn’t going to come until then. I wanted to see you.”
“Don’t tell me it’s going to be more dangerous,” Tonks says, grabbing the front of his robes. “Don’t tell me this is the last time I’ll get to see you.”
“I don’t know if it will be,” he replies evenly, “but it should. I can’t keep doing this to you.”
“Even if we’re not . . . together . . .” Tonks shudders and releases his robes from her grasp. “. . . we’re still friends. I’ll always want to see you.”
Remus gazes up at her; his golden brown irises are molten and dark, full of the look she’s long recognized as his craving. She feels his resolve shattering by the second, but he hasn’t moved, hasn’t yet given in.
“Stay with me until you meet with Dumbledore. You need rest.” Her hands come up to his lined cheeks. He flinches at her initial touch but relaxes against her palms as she strokes her thumbs underneath his tired eyes. “For now . . . promise me you won’t leave by morning. That’s all I want from you.”
“That’s not all you want—”
“—I know, Remus.” Tonks exhales forcefully and groans. “For now that’s all I want. Stay and rest with me.” His eyes meet hers and his fingers come up to wrap around her wrists. He takes her palms away from his face but doesn’t let go of her hands.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Tonks shakes her head and tugs him up, saying, “If you sleep on the floor, so do I. Friends can share a bed.” Remus parts his lips, dismayed, but Tonks won’t hear a word of protest. She unclasps his robes and lets them fall to the floor, exposing the thin jumper and patched trousers beneath. Remus bends his head forward, letting his forehead touch hers.
“I’m a weak man.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a noble git who gets in his own way.”
Remus snorts softly. His arms wrap around her torso, and she feels his warm body pressed against hers. They fit together perfectly, as if they were made for each other.
“Stay,” she whispers, holding him tightly.
With a resigned huff, he lets go of her and takes his jumper off. His belt comes off next, but he doesn’t take his trousers off. Tonks leads him to her bed, lifting the covers for them, and watches Remus go through an internal struggle over joining her there. He capitulates and lays down, letting her snuggle into his gaunt frame.
She fights to stay awake, afraid of seeing Remus leave, but her exhaustion catches up with her.
The other side of the bed is cold and empty when Tonks rubs her eyes. A hurt, shameful whimper leaves her mouth. He’s left her again.
The flickering shadows from the fire shed light on her clock. It’s just shy of six in the morning, too early for her shift, too late to drown her sorrows at the pub. The storm outside has eased to a light drizzle, keeping her window panes foggy, and she reaches for a blanket to wrap herself in, but it’s not in its usual spot. Looking around, her gaze falls on a bundled lump in front of the fireplace. It’s Remus, burrowed in a nest of blankets, snoring softly on the floor.
He didn’t leave her. Or, she thinks, her shoulders drooping, he hasn’t left yet. She wonders if this is how it’s gone in the past, with Remus starting in her bed and ending up on the floor, curled up like a cat in front of the fire, slinking away before the break of day.
Maybe this is all he can give her. Maybe she needs to accept his limitations and love him as he is, a man who might never be ready for more than friendship, a man who has given all he can of himself, which will never be enough for her, because he holds a part of himself back.
A low rumble of thunder rattles the windows. Tonks takes the remaining blankets off her bed and drags them to the floor. She nestles herself next to Remus, observing the way his premature lines relax in his sleep. The spot in front of the fire is cozy and warm, and when Tonks lifts the blanket so she can feel his chest against hers, his arm comes up and pulls her closer.
The brown paper bag from the Welsh bakery appears in her periphery. As Tonks inhales Remus’s comforting, familiar scent, she remembers he came to see her. He won’t give her what they both want, but he hasn’t abandoned her. They’re both selfish, demanding the other to bend to their will, but Tonks thinks they can agree to stay like this.
They’re curled up together, snug and toasty, ensconced in a cocoon of wool. Perhaps this is all she can have, and all Remus can give her. She falls asleep again, gripping him firmly, and hopes he’s still there when she wakes.