Insomniac
June, 1997
Maybe it was because it was nearly summer; maybe it was because he wasn't used to the body sleeping beside him; or maybe it was just his werewolf tendencies; but Remus was, for tonight at the very least, an insomniac.
He'd watched the minutes tick by, sometimes closing his eyes for a half hour at a time and opening them again not to see the dreadful halls of the Department of Mysteries that usually haunted his dreams, but to see his watch's reflection in the moonlight. At three he finally slipped out from underneath the arm sprawled over his chest, pulled on a thin layer of clothing, and went outside to sit on the front stoop.
After a few minutes, the door creaked open behind him, and Tonks sat down beside him. "Good morning," she said softly.
"And to you," he said conversationally, leaning slightly forward to kiss her forehead.
"Can't sleep?"
"Nope."
"I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault."
She paused. "Is it Sirius?"
Remus closed his eyes against the chilly night air. "I think it must be." The mood lay heavily upon the pair. Remus didn't like to see Dora so solemn, so he smiled and decided to voice his thoughts out loud for once. "He was a dreadful insomniac, you know."
She seemed sad and amused at the same time. "I didn't know that at all!"
"Oh yes. It was always worst in the spring, when it was warm enough to simply lie on the castle grounds without fear of hypothermia. He'd merely get up and slip as quietly as he could through the door, which wasn't often a very quiet procedure at all."
"I would imagine not, given a member of my family in a room full of sleeping people."
Remus smiled. "It continued even after Hogwarts, when he was kind enough to offer me a home once the Ministry had detected me. I used to hear the front door slam and hear him curse softly after it for making such a racket in the middle of the night." Remus snorted softly. "I never noticed it when we were both staying in Grimmauld Place last year, but he must have been going absolutely insane without being allowed to go outside for fear of detection."
Tonks hooked her arm around his and snuggled closer to him to keep herself warm. "He was in Azkaban for years. He probably got used to it."
Remus nodded solemnly. "That place tamed him, all right."
They sat in silence for a moment before Tonks suddenly stood, took Remus' hand, and led him out onto the small patch of lawn. She promptly lay methodically down on the grass and grinned at Remus, indicating that he join her. He did.
"Remind me," she asked him softly when he'd settled.
Remus smiled and extended an arm toward the sky as she rested her head on his other shoulder. "Right there."
"There?"
"There."
"That bright one?"
"Yep."
Dora chuckled. "Typical."
"Indeed."
Those were only two of the many things Dora absolutely adored about Remus: the way he brought her down to earth even when they were staring at the sky, and the way he said 'indeed' as often as possible.
"I wish I hadn't acted like I did for all those years," he said huskily, interrupting her thoughts.
"You mean thinking he killed the Potters when all evidence pointed to such an assumption?" Dora asked, plainly mocking his misplaced sense of sorrow.
"His best friend dies, another turns out to be the cause of it, and the third ignores him for twelve years."
"I'm sure he didn't blame you."
"I know he didn't. It is I, however, who continues to, even today."
"Do you think he blamed himself for thinking you were the Death Eater instead of Peter?"
"Absolutely."
"Didn't you consistently wish he wouldn't?"
Remus shook his head. "It wasn't about me, Dora, it was about James. He kicked himself in the same way that I did, and do, for not catching it. If we'd seen that darkness in Peter, James and Lily would be alive today, as would Sirius, and Harry wouldn't have been subjected to all these burdens he doesn't deserve."
Dora didn't have a response to that. Remus felt fully responsible for Harry since Dumbledore died and, along with the Weasleys, were worrying constantly about the boy's fate. The Order was forming a plan, but the plan only went so far. What happened to any of them was anyone's guess.
"I love you, Dora."
Tonks bit her lower lip, but couldn't dissuade her tears. Such an emotion had been implied since they'd gotten together, and even before, but this was the first time he'd said as much. "I love you, Remus," she returned after only a moment's pause.
Lupin laughed thickly. "I don't know why you do. I'm--"
"Strange and formal and perfect?"
"Well, I was going to say 'a poor scraggly man with nothing to offer such a beautiful and vivacious woman', but strange and formal do the trick."
"And perfect."
Remus smiled. "Two perfect people in a relationship? Unheard of. Not possible."
She had long ago foregone looking at the stars in favour of watching Remus' silhouette in the moonlight. Now she leaned up and kissed him softly before smiling at him and settling back against his chest, watching the stars in the clear night sky. "What are you thinking right now?" she asked abruptly but softly, not wanting to ruin the beauty of the moment with her usual clumsiness.
"Just thoughts."
"Enlighten me."
"Dreary thoughts."
"Endarken me, then," she insisted, pulling gently at his t-shirt.
Remus sighed. "What happens... after the rest of the Order dies off?"
"Oh, Remus," Tonks started, but stopped herself immediately, keen that she was actually getting him to open up.
He paused at her outburst, but understood how carefully she was listening and carried on. "Harry has lost his parents, his godfather, and now Dumbledore, his most important protector. Now there's only the Order, specifically Molly, Arthur and I, looking after him, and we both know we can't do a single justice to the other factors in his life that have now left him. Voldemort has... has bereft him of every support system in his life... except Ron, Hermione, and the Order. So what happens after we're gone?"
"We are not going anywhere, Remus Lupin," Tonks decided sternly, turning again to look at him. "You and I and the Weasleys and Harry and everyone are going to lead long, happy lives. We'll live to see the defeat of Voldemort. We'll be the cause of it, in point of fact. And Harry will be perfectly fine, and we'll be perfectly fine, and the Weasleys will be perfectly fine, and we'll all simply lie around being so dreadfully perfectly fine that we'll take up sewing in all our boredom, and be forced to start our own business to get rid of all our fantastically crafted pyjamas."
Remus paused only momentarily before bursting into an echoing spiel of laughter. Tonks grinned into his t-shirt and returned her gaze to the sky, not wanting the image of his laughing eyes to leave her mind as they would soon leave his face. "I don't know how to sew," he admitted.
"Neither do I. That's the appeal." She paused and, sensing Remus' continued anxiety over the matter, reverted to the initial topic. "But Remus, there will always be someone to look after Harry, whether we snuff it or not. And even if we do snuff it, which we won't, and there isn't anyone else, which there will be, then he's more than capable of looking after himself. He's proven that countless times."
Remus had no argument to this. "I just wish I knew what his plan was," he admitted.
"I know you do. Just let him do what he feels he needs to do, so that, if nothing else, he can be at peace."
Remus nodded slowly and closed his eyes momentarily. He always forgot how wonderful it was to talk to Dora; she made the rational part of his mind sound far too late on the uptake. But now tearstains were soaking his shirt; Dora sniffled in a manner she hoped was somewhat inconspicuous, and only made any other noise after Remus asked her what the matter was.
"I'm sorry you've lost so many people," she whispered, facing him again and bunching his shirt in her fist. "I'm so sorry."
"Oh, love, I'm all right," he reasoned lightly, stroking her hair affectionately. "I've got you, haven't I?"
"Indeed you have," she confirmed, using his favourite word against him.
"Then I imagine I'll be just fine."
They lay in bittersweet silence for a good half hour. Tonks eventually closed her eyes and soon stopped fidgeting; her sudden speech ten minutes later indicated, however, that she wasn't quite asleep. "Happy Deathiversary, Sirius," she whispered, eyes still closed, her words barely distinguishable over the birds' sudden welcoming of incoming dawn.
Remus nodded slowly. "Happy Deathiversary, Padfoot," he repeated. And there they lay until the sun rose, watching Sirius' bright disposition retreat slowly back behind the veil.