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Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked exactly as Remus remembered it: grim, with peeling paint on the facade, broken windows, and piles of rubbish that the wind lazily chased along the pavement. The area seemed frozen in perpetual winter, forgotten and uninhabited, as if time itself had decided to bypass it. In the rest of London, spring was already breathing warmth, awakening life after a long slumber: flowers were pushing up through cracks in the asphalt, and birds were chirping on the branches. Yet here, on Grimmauld, the air was colder, thicker, steeped in dampness and something bitter that settled on the tongue.
He had only been here once since Sirius’s death to collect his meager belongings and take them back to his shabby house, which barely deserved to be called that. The Order of the Phoenix hadn’t gathered at this headquarters all summer, buried under bureaucracy and endless arguments about security. By the time the meetings resumed here, Remus was already far away — in the werewolf camp, where he had cut himself off from the world. From a normal life, from hot meals, from the warmth of human contact. From her.
The thought of Tonks was like a knife he kept driving into his own chest, leaving a gaping wound he simply had to live with.
Remus shook his head, silently scolding himself.
Stop it. She deserves better.
Someone strong, brave, healthy. Someone who doesn't wake up at night with aching bones and memories of howling under a full moon. Someone who can offer her a proper home, not this damned, mould-ridden, grief-soaked hole. He needed to let her go, nobly, even if without her smile, without her laugh, without her bright, ever-changing hair, he felt like a dead man wandering through the ruins of his own life.
He took a final drag, feeling the bitter smoke scorch his throat. The cigarette was from a pack Sirius had once given him—carelessly, with that familiar, mocking smile, as if it were some great gift, not just tobacco. Remus looked at the glowing stub, holding it between his fingers a moment longer than necessary before flicking it into the rusty bin. The last piece of Sirius. The last piece of who he himself once was. Pathetic. He could not even afford a new pack.
Remus pushed himself off the wall and crossed the street. His steps were quiet and measured, as if he were afraid of disturbing the ghosts of the place. His wand touched the lock, and the door opened with a quiet click, releasing the stale air.
Inside, the headquarters was gloomy, with the subdued light of the gas lamps casting tremulous shadows on the cobweb-draped walls. The air smelled of mold and dust, and Remus involuntarily took shallow breaths, as if afraid to let the house seep into him. Once, children's laughter, the Order’s heated arguments, and the smell of coffee Molly was brewing had resonated here. Now, however, the house was dead, a reflection of a part of his own soul, and the dust settled on the old tapestries reminded him that life had long since departed these walls.
The floorboards creaked beneath his worn boots, each sound echoing through the empty corridors as he made his way down to the kitchen, where the Order usually held its meetings. From the stairs, he could already make out muffled voices, fragments of conversation mixing with the incessant drone in his head.
Remus reached for the doorknob, but suddenly froze when a bright, piercing, resonant, familiar laugh broke through the fog of his thoughts. His heart began to pound faster. He closed his eyes, soaking in the sound as if it were the only water in a desert he had been wandering for months.
He suddenly recalled past missions with Tonks, when everything between them had been easy and straightforward. Back then, he could pretend his feelings for her were merely friendly affection and simply enjoy her company.
He remembered sharing butterbeer with them after Order meetings, talking about everything and nothing. He recalled how she made him play ‘Two Truths and a Lie’ on night watches. He would feign a scowl, though deep down he waited for her to suggest the game again. He wanted to know everything about her: every secret, every story, every smile.
He remembered how, once, a very long time ago, he had tried everything he could to elicit her laughter. He loved the way she threw her head back, the way her pink hair splashed across her shoulders, the way that sweet dimple appeared on her cheek, and how her dark eyes sparkled when she snorted with amusement. That sound was music, the only melody that could drown out the loneliness in his heart.
But now, those memories seemed alien, as if he had stolen them from someone else’s life. As if he had read a book or watched a film, and then wrongly imagined the events had happened to him. It would be simpler that way, much simpler than what he felt now.
Remus quietly exhaled, gathering the last of his strength, and touched the doorknob. He wanted to throw the door open and walk in as if nothing had changed. Instead, he simply opened it soundlessly, leaving a narrow crack, enough to see, but to remain unseen.
Even the bravest Gryffindors were sometimes pitiful cowards.
The conversations inside became clearer, as if he were sitting at the table with them. Molly was grumbling that the kitchen was filthy, Arthur gently countered that things were not so bad, and Mad-Eye’s gravelly voice insisted on ‘constant vigilance’. Yet all of this was mere background noise, because his eyes, his mind, and his heart were fixed on her.
Tonks was sitting semi-sideways to him, her light brown hair, an uncharacteristically muted shade, was pulled back into a high ponytail. Her face was paler than usual, with shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes. But even so, to Remus, she was the brightest person in that room, the most alive thing he had seen in months. His heart gave a sharp lurch as a smile appeared on her face, and then she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. For a brief moment, he wanted to rush in, walk up to her, see that smile up close, catch the sparkle in her eyes, and notice the familiar dimple on her cheek.
But the moment passed too quickly. A burning, unfamiliar feeling constricted his chest, as if someone had plunged a white-hot blade into him.
He was not the cause of her amusement. She was happy without him.
Kingsley was sitting beside her, leaning in a little closer than necessary, telling her something with a soft smile. His fingers brushed her wrist—a light, almost weightless gesture, but she did not pull away, as if it were perfectly normal. She quietly giggled again, and Remus felt the ground drop out from beneath him.
He clenched his jaw so tightly that his teeth ground together. His fingers, still clinging to the doorknob, were trembling, and he forced himself to take a deeper breath to calm down. The smell of mould and dust hit his lungs, but he barely noticed it, too consumed by the searing sensation that spread through his chest like a poison.
You have no right, he repeated to himself like a mantra. She is free. She is happy. That is all that matters.
But the words were as hollow as that abandoned house, and the jealousy burned him from the inside, leaving scars on a heart that was already fractured. He hated himself for the feeling, and for the fact that he could not look away.
"They’re simply watching me, King!" Tonks’s voice, bubbly and with a touch of feigned indignation, cut through the fog of his thoughts. "I was only gone for a few hours yesterday, and when I got back, they peppered me with questions! Of course, I pretended not to know what the fuss was about and said I simply wanted to sleep in my own warm bed in my flat, seeing as I finally had an evening to myself. But I don't think they believed it."
Nymphadora leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, and sighed with theatrical despair. Remus felt the corners of his lips involuntarily twitch into a faint smile at her open assertiveness. Even now, with fatigue casting shadows beneath her eyes, she was beautiful.
Remus knew she had been living in Hogsmeade with other Aurors since the start of the school year, keeping an eye on the school and the village. Not that he had asked specifically, of course. Molly frequently mentioned Tonks, her activities, her life, and her mood, and Remus caught every single word, though he pretended to let them go in one ear and out the other.
He would be a monumental liar to claim he did not crave that information. And it would be just as dishonest to deny that he didn’t strain his ears every time someone started talking about her. To pretend he did not hope to accidentally run into her at a Weasley family dinner. To say that, when visiting Dumbledore at Hogwarts, he did not take an unnecessary detour through Hogsmeade, secretly hoping to catch sight of her, even from afar: a flash in the crowd or a figure at the window of the Three Broomsticks.
He never lied. He simply hid that truth from everyone. Even from himself.
"Don’t worry about it. I told Dawlish we’d gone out for dinner. I’m sure he’ll eat that up," Kingsley leaned a little closer to her than necessary and winked. His voice was low, warm, and had a slight hint of mockery.
"You... what?" Tonks’s eyes widened slightly, her lips parted in surprise.
"I had to tell Dawlish we had been on a date," Kingsley shrugged, as if it were a trivial matter. "You know how our office loves gossip. They are ready to believe any romance, even without proof."
A date. The word echoed in Remus’s head like a hammer blow. His throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe, as his mind painted a picture: Tonks and Kingsley at a small table in a cosy restaurant, her laughing, her hair glistening in the candlelight, and him leaning closer, smiling that same warm smile.
A thin voice in his head, the same one that usually urged him to think, suddenly spoke louder: This is what you wanted. This is what she deserves. A handsome, brave, strong, healthy Auror, by whose side she will be safe. Not you—a shadow, a monster, with scar-covered hands and a heart full of guilt and self-pity.
"And where did you go, then?" asked Bill, who was sitting on the other side of Tonks, his arms folded across his chest. Remus had not even noticed him before, too absorbed by her.
"Oh, I chose a magnificent Muggle establishment, naturally," Kingsley said seriously, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. "The 'Oyster and the Pearl'. You know, it is a rather unassuming place, downstairs in Soho. At first glance, it is just a noisy, ordinary pub. But if you know where to look, you can find a small, secluded room at the back. Absolutely perfect for a romantic evening."
Remus felt the muscles in his neck tighten.
A small, secluded room. For a romantic evening.
His hand slid from the doorknob and clenched into a fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His fingernails dug into his palms, leaving stinging red crescent marks. He involuntarily took half a step forward before forcing himself to halt.
Calm yourself. This should not concern you.
"For a romantic evening?" Tonks asked sweetly, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter.
She leaned in slightly towards Kingsley, her elbows propped on the table, her chin resting on her hands. She was looking at him with that charming expression Remus knew so well. A long time ago, she had looked at him with the same interest: when he was telling her stories about the Marauders or about some book she had never read. Back then, he would roll his eyes, feeling his cheeks grow warm under her gaze, and pretended to be distracted. Deep down, however, he lived for those moments.
Kingsley looked self-assured. He smiled back at her, leaning in a little closer, and lowered his voice, as if sharing a private joke.
"It was dark, but perfectly cosy. We ordered their famous cinnamon ale—it is quite strong, I must say—and spent a couple of hours discussing everything and nothing. We were there the whole evening before you returned to Hogsmeade."
"I never knew you were such a romantic, Kingsley," Bill said with a laugh, taking a sip of tea from a cracked mug.
"All for the sake of a beautiful girl," Kingsley replied, winking at Tonks. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face broadened.
Remus felt a lump lodge in his throat, bitter and heavy, as if he had swallowed a piece of plaster innocently hanging from the battered wall.
This is what you wanted. This is right, he repeated to himself, but the words offered no comfort.
Every laugh from Tonks, every glance directed at Kingsley, was like a punch to his gut, another fracture in his already broken heart.
Why could he not simply leave, abandon her, as he had promised himself? Why was he standing here, in the shadows, peeping at her like a coward? He hated himself for this weakness, for not being able to look away, for the fact that her presence was like the air he needed, without which he would suffocate.
A cold draught chilled him to the bone, catching at his threadbare cloak, and Remus involuntarily shivered, feeling the scars from the last full moon ache.
He took a step back from the door. And another.
He could leave. Right now. Send a Patronus to Moody, saying he still had not recovered from the full moon, that his bones were aching and his head was pounding. That would be easier. More proper. But a floorboard creaked treacherously beneath his foot, and Remus froze, afraid to move.
A silence fell in the kitchen, as if everyone was waiting for someone to enter. His heart hammered faster, and he took a deep breath, gathering the remnants of courage buried somewhere beneath layers of exhaustion and guilt. Remus pushed the door open, trying to make the movement look confident, even though inside he felt as if he were walking to his own execution.
"Good evening," he said in a husky voice, as if he had not spoken for weeks.
Remus walked past Tonks, deliberately avoiding looking at her, yet he physically felt her gaze: sharp and burning. It caused a strange feeling, a mix of nausea and yearning that made him want to curl up into a ball. He knew how he looked: gaunt, his clothes hanging off him like a coat on a rack, with bruises beneath his eyes that seemed even darker after the camp. The stubble he had not bothered to shave only emphasised his fatigue. He was a shadow of his former self, and a part of him hoped Tonks would look at him and turn away, that her feelings, if they had existed at all, would turn to revulsion. That would be better for her.
Remus sank onto the empty chair opposite Arthur, next to Moody, whose scars and artificial eye seemed almost comforting. At least he was not the only one bearing reminders of battles, even if they were different battles.
Arthur nodded at him. His soft smile was sincere, but a flicker of pity he could not conceal darted in his eyes. Remus hated that look. He always hated pity.
"Remus, dear, you look tired. Would you like a cup of tea?" Molly fussed, as always. Her voice was too loud in the sombre room. She was already reaching for the kettle without waiting for an answer.
"Yes, thank you," he replied, forcing himself to smile, although it felt strained, as if his face had forgotten how to do it.
Remus risked a glance at Tonks, preparing to see the same pity that had flickered in Arthur's eyes, or the revulsion he typically faced outside the Order's walls: a cold, dismissive look that reminded him of his 'beast' side. His heart tightened in anticipation of the blow, but to his surprise, she was not looking at him.
Nymphadora was hunched over her notebook, her fingers shuffling through pages filled with neat, unusually long entries. There was no coloured ink, no doodles or stars with which she usually decorated her notes: just straight lines, as if written not by her, but by someone else, someone more serious, someone more responsible.
Not that she wasn't that already.
She was one of the most responsible people he had ever worked with. She was always the first to arrive at their missions, entering the room with her confident smile. She always remembered every tiny detail from their assignments, even those that escaped him, clouded by fatigue or pain after a full moon. She was astute, intelligent, and dedicated to the cause. She simply never showed it as obviously as he did, with his constant lists, cautious plans, and considered arguments that served as his shield from the outside world.
She had even joked about it once.
"It’s a professional skill," she had said then, when he, forgetting caution, had expressed admiration for her work. A wide smile with the sweet dimple appeared on her face, and her eyes shone brightly. "Appearing to be easy prey so people relax, and I have more authority in my hands."
It sounded like a joke then, and Remus was not sure how serious she had been. He doubted they were taught such a technique, he had never observed it in Moody or Kingsley. It seemed she simply knew how to reconcile the irreconcilable: to be bright and unnoticeable, cheerful and serious, stubborn and understanding. This made her so alluring, so alive in this world of shadows and secrets.
But now, all this seemed like a mask, too dense, too impenetrable for him to discern her emotions. Or perhaps he had been away from her for so long that he had simply forgotten how to do it.
Remus frowned, feeling something new stirred in his chest: not jealousy, but anxiety, cold and tenacious, like the draught that crept through the gaps in the walls.
Something was not right.
Could it be fatigue from endless duty? Was she going without sleep for days again, as she had last year? Or was it something deeper, something she was hiding beneath her smile?
His fingers trembled involuntarily, he clenched them into a fist to stop the shaking. He wanted to ask, to move closer, to touch her hand and say, "What is wrong?" But he instantly checked himself, as always.
It is not your business. You promised to disappear from her life. It is enough that you are here now.
His thoughts were interrupted by the clatter of a porcelain cup, which Molly placed in front of him. Steam rose from the tea, smelling of mint and something bitter. Remus cupped the mug with both hands, hoping the warmth would calm the tremor in his fingers. He looked away, forcing himself to focus on the cracked table, on the stains from old mugs, on anything but her.
"Well, since everyone is here, I think we can start," Moody's voice boomed. He stacked his notes neatly, his magical eye gleamed ominously as it swept the room. "Dumbledore cannot attend, he has matters outside the school. Therefore, Minerva and Snape have remained at Hogwarts, keeping an eye on it. The rest of the Order members are on assignments."
"Where has Dumbledore gone off to again?" Tonks asked from her seat. Her voice was calm, but a hint of curiosity mixed with a strange note of suspicion was evident.
Remus tried hard not to look at her, but his treacherous mind was already picturing her face: the furrowed brows, the sparks in her eyes, perhaps a slight blush on her cheeks. He gripped the cup tighter, hoping it would distract him from the desire to turn his head.
"Ask him yourself," Moody grumbled wearily, shooting her a look as if he had answered that question a thousand times.
Tonks snorted, and Remus, despite all his efforts, caught her dissatisfied grimace out of the corner of his eye. This small, familiar, and very 'her' gesture slashed at his heart like a blade. He remembered her snorting like that when he teased her about her love for Muggle songs, and how her hair would flash bright orange when she tried to hide her embarrassment. Then, he had felt alive. Now, he felt only like a shadow watching her from afar.
"So, Bill, what is the news from Gringotts?" Moody turned to Bill, his voice sharp and demanding attention.
Bill cleared his throat, adjusting his long, red ponytail. Remus forced himself to focus, lifting his gaze to him and actively avoiding looking where he was most drawn.
"Gringotts is still under control for now, although the Death Eaters are attempting to infiltrate. I have started noticing two goblins whispering too frequently in the vault area. I mentioned it to Fleur, and she suggested checking their documents. We found traces of a Subjugation Spell."
"Were you able to figure out who cast it?" Moody asked, his magical eye squinting suspiciously.
"We suspect it is either one of the Death Eaters or someone in the Ministry who is under the Imperius Curse. But we cannot be certain who exactly yet. We have reviewed all the visitor logs, but there are no strange names."
"They would hardly leave clues," Moody agreed. His voice was heavy and thoughtful. "What are you planning to do?"
"I could try to lift the charm, but I am afraid it might arouse suspicion. So, Fleur and I are currently monitoring those goblins and any suspicious activity surrounding them."
"Were they trying to access a specific vault?" Moody specified, tapping his fingers on the table.
Remus tried to listen, to absorb the information, grasping at the words to distract himself. He had been absent for so long, isolated in the werewolf camp, and now he needed to catch up and understand what was happening. But his thoughts tangled like cobwebs, clinging to Tonks. Despite all his efforts, his gaze found her again. She was fiddling with a quill in her hand, her fingers nervously twirling it, and her eyes were fixed on Bill. A faint melancholy flashed in her look, mixed with something that resembled envy. Or was he imagining things?
She seemed to feel his gaze, as she always did, as if an invisible thread connected them, and she turned her head. Their eyes met, and time stood still. Remus felt his heart skip a beat, then start pounding with renewed force.
For a second, he wondered: how could she overcome him so easily? One look and everything inside him crumbled. One quiet chuckle and he drowned in her, as if in a warm lake after decades of cold. One smile and his world shattered into pieces, only to reform once more.
Would there ever come a time when she did not affect him so profoundly? Would the moment arrive when, closing his eyes, he would cease to see her heart-shaped face, her sparkling eyes, her dimple on her cheek? Would she stop haunting his dreams?
He hoped not.
To his dismay, her gaze held neither the revulsion nor the pity he had secretly hoped for. Only sorrow, mixed with something he could not decipher: Anger? Pain?
Her gaze did not linger. She looked away towards the table, her face regaining a neutral expression. This hit Remus like cold water, as if she had slammed a door in front of him, locked it, and hung a sign that read, 'Do Not Enter.'
Arthur started speaking about the Ministry, his voice was level, and Remus stubbornly tried to listen. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement: Kingsley leaned towards Tonks and whispered something that made her bite her lip, holding back a laugh, and lightly nudge him with her elbow. Her gaze was not like the one she had given Remus just minutes ago. It was warmer, softer, and her eyes lingered on her colleague a fraction longer than necessary. The sight made Remus swallow hard. His fingers clenched the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood, and he forced himself to look away, to focus on Moody, on his gravelly voice, on anything but her.
"Death Eaters are infiltrating the Ministry," Arthur's voice carried across the table. "Yesterday, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I heard them discussing new checks among the staff. They are still debating what exactly to implement, especially considering that a quarter of the employees are already under Imperius or too terrified to resist the Death Eaters' orders."
"I think Williamson is acting strangely," Kingsley interjected, his low voice calm and confident. "I hinted at this to Robards, but he suggested doing nothing for now, just observing. He hopes to understand first exactly what is happening and who might be behind it. Williamson's partner has been assigned to keep a constant watch on him. I have observed no other oddities in the Auror Office."
"Those with me in Hogsmeade don’t seem suspicious," Tonks put in, her voice was self-assured, something Remus could only admire. "I usually patrol with Proudfoot and try to draw him into conversation, just to test him. I chatter away at the poor fellow on completely different topics, and I think I am giving him a headache. But everything is fine, he causes me no suspicion. Savage and Dawlish work in a pair, we usually meet up at lunch, checking in with each other and sharing shift details, but they do not look suspicious either. The village is relatively quiet, I do not think Death Eaters will appear there while Aurors are present."
"But Diagon Alley is a different story," Kingsley added, looking at Tonks, and she nodded, her lips twitching into an approving smile. "Yesterday, following your tip, Mad-Eye, we went into the Leaky Cauldron. We spent the whole evening there, trying not to draw suspicion."
"And?" Moody lifted an eyebrow expectantly, his magical eye flashing as it fixed on Kingsley.
"Your version was confirmed: Death Eaters are indeed meeting there," Tonks said with a slight smile, a note of pride in her voice.
"They were meeting with someone from the Ministry," Kingsley continued. Remus involuntarily tensed, noticing how he and Tonks exchanged glances, as if they could finish each other's sentences. "But all of them were wearing dark masks and using a Silencing Charm, so we could neither hear nor understand exactly who was sitting there. That is until Tonks came up with a brilliant plan."
Kingsley threw her a glance with a soft smile, and she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched in a reciprocal smile. Moody looked expectantly at Tonks, tapping his fingers on the table.
"I simply noticed that Mirgourd from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was sitting with them," Tonks said, shrugging, but her voice was full of certainty. "You know yourself he is constantly flirting with various Ministry ladies, so when he approached the bar counter, I just walked up to him, pretending it was an accident, and started chatting nonsense. Using a disguise, of course," she quickly added. "I flirted with him a bit, and then, pretending to stumble, I slipped an enchanted button into his jacket, which recorded the entire conversation."
Tonks shrugged, a devilish smile appeared on her lips, which made Remus freeze for a moment, admiring her resourcefulness. She was brilliant, brave, clever, and daring.
But then, his mind immediately painted a picture: Nymphadora laughing, leaning closer to Mirgourd, her fingers touching his arm, her eyes sparkling, just as they once sparkled for him. His stomach clenched, he felt heat rise to his throat.
She was flirting with him.
Remus tried to convince himself that this was part of the plan, that she did it for the mission, but the image of her smile directed at another man was like a poison eating away at him from the inside.
He glanced at Kingsley, wondering if he felt a pang of jealousy, or if this was only his curse.
"So, did you find anything out?" Moody asked, his voice slightly impatient.
Tonks nodded, her gaze growing more serious.
"They are preparing a plan of attack on the Ministry. They are finding out the work schedules of departments, especially those close to the Minister for Magic. They are attempting to recruit deputies of the departments."
"Is there a list of the people who were at that meeting?" Moody asked, his magical eye narrowing suspiciously.
"Yes, of course," Kingsley handed him a piece of paper.
"And I also wrote a full report on everything they said," Tonks added, tearing a few pages from her notebook and passing them to Moody. Her light brown hair fell slightly onto her shoulder as she leaned forward, and Remus could smell the faint scent of her floral perfume.
Moody's eyes quickly scanned the list, accompanied by quiet curses, then moved to the report. He frowned.
"We need to increase surveillance at the Leaky Cauldron."
"We are going back on duty there in two days," Tonks said. "We overheard that the next meeting is on Monday, it is in the report."
"Are you sure you can make it?" Moody asked, looking up at her. His voice was sharp, but genuine concern was audible.
"Yes," Tonks answered firmly, straightening up in her chair. "I have the morning shift on Monday. I am free in the evening."
"Another date on Monday evening, then," Kingsley winked at her, and she rolled her eyes again, responding to his smile.
Remus felt his fingers clench the edge of the table, his nails digging into the wood, leaving barely visible marks.
Another date. He knew it was a joke, part of their cover, but it offered no comfort. The whole thing sounded too good, too harmonious, too perfect.
"Alright, alright. Then continue the surveillance," Moody muttered, looking over the report once more and nodding. " Lupin," his voice became sharper, and Remus flinched, looking up. "Are you with us or are you drifting off somewhere?"
Remus swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to sit up straight.
"I am here," he lied. His voice was hoarse, almost unfamiliar.
He felt Tonks's gaze skim over him, but he did not dare look at her, afraid she would see the hole where his heart used to be.
"I assume you have already managed to deliver the necessary report to Dumbledore?" Moody asked, his magical eye narrowing suspiciously, as if sensing his distraction.
"Yes, of course," Remus breathed out, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Anything you wish to add?" Moody tapped his fingers on the table, the sound echoing in Remus's head.
"Not particularly," he winced, feeling the bitter taste of self-contempt rise in his throat. "You already know about the few attacks in the village. After the last raid, they had to go underground, but I am not sure exactly where, because Fenrir guessed I betrayed them, and I had to escape before they found a new location. I only managed to recruit a few..."
Monsters. Just like you, his inner voice whispered, and Remus forced himself to straighten up to hide his weakness.
"...werewolves to our side. But not very many. Albus knows about them, and they are already looking for a refuge. The rest showed little desire to change anything. They are quite satisfied with how things are going in the pack." His voice wavered on the last word, saturated with disgust for the werewolves, and for himself.
He clenched his fists beneath the table. Talking about the werewolves, about the camp, was like picking at old wounds, and the mission’s failure only exacerbated his state.
"Right," Moody replied. His voice softened, but the magical eye was still bored into Remus. "Do you know your assignments for next week?"
Everyone nodded, except for Remus. He felt his shoulders tense as Moody's gaze slid over him again.
"I have not seen the roster yet," he said quietly.
"Yes, yes, quite right," Moody nodded, rummaging through his papers. "Now that you are back in action, we need to revise the schedule. I shall see where to add you now." Remus nodded, his fingers nervously worried about the edge of his worn cloak, trying to distract himself from the noise in his head. "The rest of you may leave, thank you for the meeting."
As Moody continued to look through his notes, the others began to pack up: their chairs scraped against the floorboards, and voices blended into a low hum. Remus watched Tonks and Kingsley remain seated, leaning towards each other and chatting. Their laughter, light and casual, sounded far too friendly. He strained his ears, he knew it was wrong, that he should not eavesdrop, but he could not stop.
"...and do you truly think I will believe you accidentally spilled that ale all over yourself in the Leaky Cauldron?" Tonks teased. Her voice was playful, with a slight huskiness that made Remus's heart contract. She leaned a little closer to Kingsley and she smiled that exact smile that was once addressed to him.
"Hey, I was just trying to save the situation," Kingsley retorted. His low voice was warm, with teasing undertones. "It was you who nearly knocked over the table when you tried to 'accidentally' drop that button."
"Oh, please, I had everything under control!" Tonks rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile, and she lightly shoved his shoulder. "You are just jealous of my acting skills. Mirgourd still thinks I am madly in love with him."
Kingsley laughed, leaning closer, and his hand inadvertently touched her elbow.
"Perhaps I should try your 'acting skills' on the next shift, too?"
Remus felt his stomach clench, and a rush of heat rose to his throat. He forced himself to turn away, shifting his gaze to Moody. But her voice, her laughter, still rang in his ears like a mockery.
"Come for supper tomorrow, dear," Molly's voice, warm and bustling, broke in from nowhere. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Remus flinched, pulled from his torment. "You look as though you could do with a hot meal."
"Yes, of course, thank you, Molly," he forced a smile, nodding at her and Arthur, who looked at him with the same gentle pity that always irritated him. Bill also nodded goodbye, his red hair flashed in the dim light, and Remus felt even more like an outsider in the room.
He noticed Tonks give Arthur and Molly a warm hug, then return to her conversation with Kingsley, her smile was as bright as before. Remus clenched his fists beneath the table, his nails digging into his palms, leaving burning marks.
"I need someone on Sunday morning to keep watch on Dolohov's house. Can you do it?" Moody asked.
"Yes, I have no particular plans," Remus replied quietly.
"Excellent," Moody nodded, writing Remus's surname down, and began to gather his things. "Well, farewell then, everyone."
"Alastor, wait up," Kingsley stopped him, standing. "Could we discuss something quickly?"
"Yes, but on the way, I am running late," Moody grumbled, already heading towards the door.
Remus watched Kingsley hug Tonks goodbye, his hand lingered on her shoulder, his fingers inadvertently squeezing the fabric of her robe. He leaned in, whispering something in her ear, and she nodded, her lips twitching into a light, trusting smile. Kingsley pulled away, looking at her with a warmth Remus had not seen in his own reflection for years. His heart contracted as if someone had squeezed it in a fist, and a blaze of jealousy, furious and suffocating, rose to his throat.
He pictured them together again: at the Leaky Cauldron, having dinner, in that cramped room where she laughed and Kingsley looked at her as if she were the only light in this dark world. His mind screamed that it was not his business, that he had no right, but the images tore him apart, like the claws of the beast inside him.
She is not yours, he repeated to himself, but it did not help. He was going mad, standing in this cold kitchen where her every gesture with another man felt like a punch to the gut.
"Bye, Remus," Kingsley tossed out as a final word. His voice was friendly, but Remus barely managed a nod, not trusting his own voice.
The door slammed shut behind Kingsley and Moody, and the kitchen descended into a silence as heavy as a damp cloak.
The air, thick with dust and mould, grew colder, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees. Remus stared at his feet, at the cracked floorboards, afraid to lift his eyes to Tonks. He did not know what he would find in her gaze: Pity? Contempt? Or, worse, the same heartache that was eating him alive?
The rustle of parchment, her quiet footsteps on the creaking floor towards the door — every sound jarred his nerves.
"You look good together," he blurted out before he could stop himself, and immediately cursed his own mouth.
Tonks's footsteps ceased abruptly.
"What?" Her voice was quiet, full of disbelief, as if she could not believe he had said that.
Remus cleared his throat, still not looking at her. His fingers clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm so hard that he felt pain. He carefully considered every word, trying to contain his emotions, but they were tearing their way out.
"With Kingsley," he said. His voice was husky, but he forced himself to continue. "You look happy next to him."
"Please tell me you are not serious," Tonks groaned, and there was so much irritation in her voice that Remus involuntarily looked up. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her light brown hair had fallen slightly over her shoulder, and her eyes burned with a mixture of anger and disbelief.
"I saw the way you look at each other," he continued. His voice was rough, almost alien. He hated himself for the words, but he could not stop. "The way you laugh. The way he hugs you. It is... it is right."
"Merlin, Remus," Tonks exhaled, her voice sharpened. "Do you truly think there is something going on between Kingsley and me?"
"That is... none of my business," he answered too quickly. His mind feverishly searched for safe words, but they escaped him. He felt his heart pounding and sweat breaking out on his palms.
"But you still decided to comment on it," she countered, her voice was sharp as a blade. She stepped closer, and Remus instinctively backed away.
"It is just... I do not want you to be unhappy. Kingsley... he is a good man. He has a future: a job, stability. Everything you deserve."
He bit his lip, cursing himself for opening his mouth at all. Every word was a mistake, but he could not stop them, just as he could not stop his heart beating to the rhythm of her name.
"Remus... Are you serious?" Tonks suddenly laughed, but there was no joy in her laughter, it was bitter, almost painful. "You push me away, vanish for months, go to that blasted werewolf camp, and now you come back and... what? You are jealous of my friend?"
"I am not jealous," he protested, but his voice trembled, betraying the lie. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure, but her words, her proximity, and her anger were dismantling all his barriers. "I have no right to be jealous."
"Then why are you doing this?" Tonks demanded sharply. Her voice grew louder, and she stepped closer, so close that Remus could feel the warmth of her body, the faint scent of her floral perfume he would recognise even in the darkness. Her eyes, full of anger and pain, bored him, and he did not know where to look. His heart was pounding so hard he thought she might hear it. "What do you want from me, Remus? You left. You said you were not interested in me."
"I did not say that," he flinched, remembering how he had chosen his words to hurt her minimally, yet still delivered a blow.
"Oh, of course not. You said something along the lines of 'I am too old, too poor, too dangerous.' Blah, blah. A typical excuse when you do not want to upset someone. A new version of the phrase, 'it is not you, it is me,' is that it?"
"It truly is about me, not you," he defended himself. His voice was firm, but he was falling apart inside.
Tonks scoffed in disbelief, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You are wonderful, Tonks. You are..." He hesitated. He wanted to say something safe, something that would stop this conversation, but the words burst out, uncontrollable. "You are strong, clever, and brave. You are like a light in this darkness, in this war, in this house. You have always been like that, with your jokes, with your ability to see good even where there is none. You deserve someone who can give you a life full of light, not..." He trailed off. His voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. "Not a pathetic animal living from one full moon to the next."
"You are not an animal!" Her voice broke, and she poked his chest with her finger, so hard that he involuntarily stumbled back, hitting the edge of the table. Her eyes blazed and her fists clenched, as if she were fighting with herself. "Although I agree with the pathetic part, because you... you are a coward! You are hiding behind your self-pity because it is easier than admitting..."
"Admitting what?!" Remus snapped his head up, his eyes finally met hers, and he immediately regretted it. Her gaze was like a storm, full of fury, pain, and something else he was afraid to name. His voice trembled, he had lost control despite all his attempts to weigh his words. "Admit that I could destroy you? That I would make your life miserable? Is that what you want to hear from me? Do you want me to confess that I am in love with you? To steal your best years?"
She fell silent, her chest rising and falling with heavy breathing, and Remus saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears. His stomach clenched and he felt nausea rising in his throat. He had hurt her. Again.
"Do you even understand how painful it was for me to watch you leave?" Her voice was quieter, but trembling with emotion: every word was like a blow. "The way you go on these deadly missions just to avoid me. Because I know, Remus, I know you did not leave for the sake of the war or for heroism. You left because you did not want to see me anymore."
"I did not—"
"Please do not lie to me, Remus," her voice became almost a whisper, but there was so much pain in it that he felt his heart crack. "I see how you look at me, or rather, how you try not to look. The way you seek any reason— age, the curse, the past — to convince yourself that you are unworthy. You think if you lie to yourself enough times, your feelings will disappear — but they do not disappear. I know." She swallowed, looking away, and her hands clenched into fists. "Do you know how hard it was to live, knowing you might die because of me? Knowing you would rather die than admit your feelings for me? Knowing that leaving was so easy for you?"
"I left only to save you. But it was never easy," he wanted to yell. "How do you leave a person with whom you feel at home?"
But the words got stuck, like the dust in this house, and he remained silent. His breathing was ragged, and his hands were shaking.
"And the worst part of all this," she continued, her voice trembling. She looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "It is that I still love you. I love you so much that even when you hurt me, I still try not to be angry. I try to understand why you do this."
Remus froze. Her words were like a bolt of lightning that took his breath away. She loves me.
It was too much, far too much. His mind screamed that he should leave, escape, as he always did, but his feet would not move. He looked at her: at her light brown hair falling onto her shoulder, at her eyes full of tears and fire, at her clenched fists, and felt his world collapsing.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her too, that every night in the camp was filled with her name, that he left to protect her, but the words got stuck in his throat like a bone.
"But I am glad you are alive," she added barely audibly with a slight smile. Her voice was almost a whisper, but genuine concern was in it. "And try to eat something: you look awful."
Tonks turned around, her steps on the creaking floor echoed in the silence, and the door slammed shut behind her with a dull thud, leaving Remus alone in the cold, empty kitchen.
He closed his eyes, and her face, her tears, her anger, her love flared before him, like a light he did not deserve to see. His hands trembled, and a hole gaped in his chest where her words had just burned. I love you.