Fic: Best Left Unsaid
Jan. 31st, 2018 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rt_moreloveAuthor/Artist: gilpin25
Title: Best Left Unsaid
Rating & Warnings: PG; none
Word Count: 5,308 words
Prompt(s): 5. At this time of year, Remus’ father would always… 6. Soup
Summary: Remus' father would always send the same invite each year, while Tonks' mother was never someone to be ignored. Their children, meanwhile, have decisions to make. Set in December during OotP.
Notes: One day I'll post before the final day of an event! I've used info from Pottermore in this, to lead into some events that follow later on. Many thanks to all atrt_morelove who've taken part again; I'm looking forward to reading the other posts.
Best Left Unsaid
At this time of year, early in December, his father always sent him an invite. It was written on cream parchment in dark blue ink, the distinctive colours Remus’ mother had always favoured. It almost looked like a formal invitation, such as to a wedding or a party, though of course it couldn’t be as it was a caring offer from a much-loved father to a much-wanted son.
The sight of it made that same son feel tired and resentful; then like a miserable toe-rag for feeling either of those things.
“What’s that then?” Sirius was sat on the floor beneath the window, his back against the wall, a mug of tea between his knees. “Seeing as you’re the only person who gets any post round here, I feel it’s your duty to share it amongst those of us who aren’t as popular.”
He was looking better than last night, which wasn’t hard, when Remus had arrived home from a week-long mission to find him as wretched as he’d ever been. A thin, sunken-eyed figure slumped in a chair in the dark; an almost empty bottle in his hand and another at his feet. Kreacher was nearby smirking in a cupboard. Sirius had said little to start with, apart from sorry, and bloody Christmas, but it was enough. Remus had found himself clenching both hands at his sides, trying to control his anger at the set of circumstances – and the people who’d created them – which meant Sirius was frequently more alone here than he’d ever been in Azkaban.
“Moony?”
Remus tossed the parchment to him. Watched Sirius read and frown. Time for the father-son tradition again! The same words every time. Remus imagined his father writing them carefully, wondering whether or not to add something new. Deciding not to risk it.
“What’s this tradition then?” Sirius checked the back of the parchment in case he’d missed something.
“Early Christmas dinner for the two of us. A chat over some Firewhiskey.”
“Sounds like hell.” Sirius took a gulp of tea. “No, it sounds nice. Your old man is nice, isn’t he?”
“Very nice.”
“Is it the food? What’s on the menu?”
“Roast turkey with trimmings. Sage and onion stuffing. Mince pies and brandy butter for dessert.”
“What a bastard. Some parents have no consideration.” Sirius pushed hair off his forehead, which must be aching, if not pounding. “OK, we’ve agreed that he’s good company, provides a decent meal for free, and, unlike if you were dining with my own late and unlamented parents, you wouldn’t have to worry about being poisoned at the soup course. So what’s up? Why don’t you want to go?”
“Who says I don’t want to go?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the solemn, weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders expression. Or the fact the owl that brought it has long since given up waiting for a reply and gone for a nap.”
Remus glanced across. It was true; the speckled owl had its eyes shut and clearly thought this was an opportunity to grab at least forty winks. If not eighty.
How to explain to Sirius? That the love and caring was there, but so was awkwardness. That it wasn’t the difficulty of making conversation as much as the silences which interrupted them. The number of subjects they didn’t mention, or couldn’t. How quiet the Welsh cottage was without his mother. How much they both missed her still. His inability to hold down a job. The Order work he was doing. His lycanthropy.
That last one was a real conversation stopper, as it always was, which was why his father tended to simply ask how he was, Remus would say he was fine, and they’d move on to safer ground, duty done.
There was a new subject to be avoided now as well. The sharp, unexpected divide which had arisen, splitting his life into the time before he met Nymphadora Tonks and the time since then. The world had taken on a different shape and meaning because of a dark-eyed young witch, who was bright, funny, nervous and confident, in ways that could have been meant for him.
But that was only for his dreams. He needed to be grateful for being able to enjoy her company.
He was heartily sick, lately, of having to remember that.
“It must be guilt then, of course. Is that why you find it hard to talk to your father? Or is it him who finds it hard to talk to you?”
Remus looked up, surprised.
Sirius shrugged, had what was almost a rueful smile on his face. “I know listening to people is more your forte than mine, and saying the right thing to them certainly is, but if there’s one thing I’m good at recognizing a mile off, it’s guilt.”
“Well, you’ve got to admit it must be difficult to be the father of a werewolf. To feel your only child was attacked by chance, and that you couldn’t prevent it.” Remus tried to speak lightly. They were only words and facts, after all. “It’s also somewhat difficult to know you were responsible for the constant moving around your parents had to do, how they could never settle for long or make friends with people, and how they spent all their money trying to find a cure that doesn’t exist.”
Sirius nodded, took another swig of tea.
How that life wore my mother out.
Remus didn’t say those words, but they hung there in the dark air of Grimmauld’s kitchen all the same.
“Moony, I don’t remember much of what I rambled on about to you last night—"
“No, you don’t, because for a start it was this morning.” Remus tried to make it into a joke, wanting to get onto a different subject, but Sirius wasn’t having it.
“—but I can guess. You’d be hard pushed to top me for regrets, but one of the biggest is that I didn’t trust the people I should have trusted the most. Along with not talking to the people I should have. Instead I made assumptions and they were nearly all wrong.”
He’d said as much in the early hours. Why didn’t I see through Peter? All he was, I thought, was our friend and a right little twerp. Because none of us did, Remus had said. Not you, not me, not James or Lily and not even Dumbledore.
Perhaps because he wasn’t either a friend or a little twerp, was he?
“My father gives me money as well,” Remus said, making an effort to not repeat those mistakes of the past, when he hadn’t talked either. “An early Christmas gift.”
Sirius did some more slow nodding. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice.” Remus smiled a little. “We seem to have come full circle with this conversation. But you see he gives it me early, because he knows I can use the money at this time of year to buy gifts for others.”
“Look, Moony, if this is about that set of books I suggested we go halves on for Harry, you know I’ll p—"
“No, I will pay my share. I have already told you that.” Remus made himself take a breath. He didn’t want Sirius to think it was bitterness coming out. “I’ll pay my share,” he repeated, more slowly this time. “Don’t misunderstand: I’m grateful to my father. But it should be the other way round. He shouldn’t have a son of my age he still has to support.”
“Once a bloody year? Oh, come on!” The lines had deepened on Sirius’ forehead. “Besides, Moony, that’s what parents do! Most of them, anyway. It’s another subject I’m far from expert on, but most want to help their children out in some way. It’s not a burden to them, it’s not something for you to be ashamed of. It seems to me your dad has come up with the most sensible way to help you that he can. He probably wants you to spend it on yourself!”
“I know. Of course he does. But there’s so little I can do for him in return. And while we can small talk for ever, we struggle when it’s anything that’s difficult.”
Sirius didn’t answer immediately. Remus watched the owl in the corner, snoring gently, and listened to the house making faint creaks and groans. Grimmauld was never quite at rest.
“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions here,” Sirius said at last. “Falling into my trap. The reason for his reticence might not be what you think it is at all.”
Remus started to speak and thought better of it. Sirius didn’t understand the emotions involved – how could he? – but maybe he had a point. He’d never really asked, after all. And if he could alleviate some of his father’s guilt, tell him he was in no way responsible for his son getting bitten all those years ago, then perhaps some of the awkwardness, the discomfort that was never far away, might vanish.
He’d like them both to be able to talk about his mother. The many good memories among the bad. She hadn’t been called Hope for nothing.
“Go on, I dare you. Talk to him,” Sirius said, raising his mug to him. “You might be surprised. New beginnings. Some fool told me that a while back, it might even have been you.”
“Like new moons?” Remus grinned. Every now and then he liked to joke about the lycanthropy, kid himself he was the one in control. It was only a furry little problem after all.
A shame it was a little problem that could kill people, or turn them into monsters. Nymphadora Tonks looked at him with trust at the moment, he couldn’t bear for that to turn to disgust or hate.
Sirius was grinning too, but the expression in his eyes made Remus think it was the painful sympathy of experience.
“Don’t end up with regrets like mine, Moony,” he said. “Do it while you’ve still got the chance.”
*~*~*
At this time of year, about mid-December, Tonks’ mother would always turn up on her doorstep with observant eyes, a large bag and a cake. The latter was beautifully baked, neatly iced, and had a red ribbon round the side. Not forgetting the reindeer and tiny fir tree sprinkled with snow on top.
“You are in then,” Andromeda said, and Tonks wanted to scream.
Well, not scream exactly, but her mother never arrived when the flat was tidy, when Tonks herself was tidy (she was in her lounge-around clothes, and they’d been lounged around in far too much) or when there was plenty of food in. How could she have forgotten this annual event? Already she was wracking her brain as to whether there were any biscuits that weren’t several weeks old to offer with the tea, and cursing because she hadn’t picked any fresh milk up this morning.
“I’m in!” she said brightly. “It’s great to see you, Mum.”
“Well, I thought I’d better come round as we’d almost forgotten what you look like these days.” Andromeda was pausing politely in the lounge as Tonks was still shutting the door with one hand and attempting to hitch her trousers up with the other. They really were ridiculously baggy in the parts that weren’t the shape of her knees and bum. “This isn’t a bad time? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh no, no. Go on in, make yourself at home. I was only, erm, catching up on some paperwork.”
The pile of papers and books covered the little table in the middle of the room. Tonks hastily swept them to one side, allowing her mother to put her bundles down. No hiding the half-drunk glass or the plates she hadn’t cleared away since lunch. What she’d actually been doing was nodding off at 3 on a Sunday afternoon after a night in the freezing cold, watching from a remote farm in Somerset for signs of Death Eater activity. The only activity had come from some inquisitive sheep, and the only form of enjoyment from the company of one Remus Lupin.
“Would you like some tea, Mum? I’ll take your coat as well.”
“That would be nice.” Andromeda had settled herself in the armchair, smoothing her skirt down, and was folding up the newspaper which had been its previous incumbent. Tonks checked that the map of last night’s stake out was pushed under the sofa, though the charms on it meant only she and Remus had been able to decipher it anyway.
The trouble with making tea was her mum was left alone to draw conclusions. A lot of them would be wrong, some would be right (which was almost worse), and a lot would be unexplainable. Tonks wondered if she was looking at the titles of any of the books. Important Modern Magical Discoveries would be OK, but Hairy Snout, Human Heart would certainly raise a well-groomed eyebrow. Of course He Flew Like a Madmen, an autobiography and the kind of book Mum might expect to find her daughter reading on her day off, was at the bottom. Largely forgotten about these days, truth be told, though a month or two ago she’d been glued to it.
She realized one side of her hair was flat where she’d been lying on it and she’d only got one clean cup.
Bugger.
“How’s Dad?” she called, trying to open cupboards quietly in search of non-existent biscuits. She surely hadn’t eaten all the ginger nuts?
“He sends his love. He’d love to see you, you know. I’m not much good at talking Quidditch results and music with him.”
“Right, I know, I know. I miss him, too.” Tonks was reproaching herself even before she thought she could hear it in Andromeda’s voice. What kind of daughter are you? It must be – what? – about three or four weeks since she’d been over there, and she hadn’t owled since last weekend, and Merlin, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that there were only so many hours in the day and she was being pulled this way and that.
It was her choice, though. Not her parents’ fault.
By some miracle, the final cupboard she opened revealed a packet of shortbread biscuits. No idea what had happened to the ginger nuts but who cared. She tipped them hastily onto a plate, poured the tea, narrowly avoided dropping the saucer, and walked back into the room with what she hoped was a serene smile on her face. While wondering why on earth it was that, much as she loved her mother, five minutes in her company and she was reduced to an impatient, irritable teenager again.
Guilt, she thought, was a killer. Especially when you were the one in the wrong. Remus had said something about guilt last night, while they were sheltering in a derelict outbuilding which the wind howled through. The Order were on high alert after Arthur had been attacked, and a snakeskin which had been shed near the farm made Dumbledore think plans for snatching the Prophecy had been made there. Five freezing hours had flown by in the company of a man with a disarming smile and the ability to make her cheeks ache from trying not to laugh.
Humour seemed the only way to cope with what was happening of late. Dark humour though it was at times.
“Thank you.” Andromeda took a sip of tea. “No tree up yet?”
“No, I haven’t got round to it. Bit late this year.”
“That’s not like you.” Andromeda took another measured sip. “You and your father always said they had to be up early in December to make the most of it.”
“I know, I’ll have to crack on or Dad’ll be on at me.” Tonks looked at the table, which now resembled a food stall at the local Witches’ Institute Fete. “I see you’ve brought a few supplies, Mum. Feeding me up again?”
“You can’t live on sandwiches alone, Nymphadora.” Her mother’s eyes flickered to the floor where the plate of tell-tale crumbs lay, and of course it was true that dinner last night was also a hastily grabbed cheese roll. She’d had literally half an hour after finishing work to get home, have a shower and a change of clothes, and Apparate to the farm. “I did some baking this morning, that’s all.”
“All” included scones, a loaf of bread, and the cake. Along with a plate of cold chicken, another of ham, and a dish of salad. Interesting baking her mum did these days. There was also a bright blue flask. The sight of it gave her a pang: it had accompanied her every term to Hogwarts and for her first two years of Auror training when she’d still lived at home.
“Potato and leek soup,” her mother said, resting an elegant hand on the flask. “Just needs warming up in a pan.”
“Blimey, Mum, what a feast! Enough for a family of six. Thank you. Really, thank you.” Tonks was aware of the false note in her voice – chagrin and gratitude weren’t mixing well – but couldn’t do much about it. “Nothing beats your cooking, it’s like being back home.”
Andromeda gave a small smile. “My soup’s not as tasty as yours. You used to make some lovely ones at the weekends. Your father could never have enough of the minestrone. You used to empty half my cupboards experimenting with it.”
Tonks felt another pang. “Think I liked making soup as it was like messing around with potions. Something interesting always happened.”
“I don’t suppose you cook much for yourself these days.”
“Well, I don’t get a lot of—"
“Time. Yes, I imagine you don’t. So you must have plenty of news to tell me?”
More like plenty she couldn’t tell her. What she did say was that work was mad, Fudge was spending all his time on his smear campaign against Dumbledore and Harry, and the Aurors were being given ever-changing responsibilities. She was in the middle of a diatribe about Fudge’s latest decree when she noticed where her mother’s attention was. The door to her bedroom was open wide enough to see what was piled high on the bed: a weeks’ worth of washing waiting to be put away. Plus the box of decorations waiting to be put up, and the presents she had bought sat waiting to be wrapped.
It was fair to say there wasn’t much of the actual bed visible.
“That’s right,” she heard herself say in a tight voice. “Ideal Homes are coming round later on to take some photographs. It’s for a feature on witches living alone and unable to cope. For your information, Mum, I only have chance to do a massive clean once a week, and if you’d come round tomorrow I’d have done every householdy spell going and the place would be spotless again. And I didn’t just have a cheese sandwich for lunch, I had an apple as well! If you’d bothered to let me know when you were going to turn up I’d—“
“Nymphadora. I haven’t come here to criticize you!”
Her mother’s eyes were wide and hurt. Tonks, brought to an abrupt halt, swallowed hard
“Mum—"
“I’ve come because we’re worried about you, and we miss you.” Andromeda leaned forward in her chair, and Tonks saw that what she’d thought of as disapproval and disappointment was no such thing.
Her mother was scared for her.
“We read the papers every day, your father and I,” she said, leaning forward, “and listen to the news. We know the Aurors are on the front line. We know you do work for Albus Dumbledore. We know Arthur Weasley’s been badly hurt and is in hospital because I saw Molly yesterday.” She held her hand up to forestall what Tonks was about to say. “We know you’re sworn to secrecy, and that it’s for our protection as much as yours. But that doesn’t stop us worrying, especially when we don’t see or hear from you. We lived through a war before, remember?”
“Mum, I—"
“We don’t want to interfere but we do want to help,” her mother said, with characteristic firmness. “I don’t care if your flat isn’t tidy, but I do care if you’re tired and not eating properly. Because that won’t help you do a dangerous job. And I do care if your tree isn’t up and the place isn’t covered in annoying sparkly lights, because that’s not my daughter!”
There was a silence. Tonks wondered why she always forgot how kind her mother was. Her dad, too. Mostly she wondered why it was so hard to admit some things to yourself. Why it was so important for her parents to always see her as the clichéd 'strong, independent woman', when they’d never suggested they didn’t love her as herself.
“It is a lot,” she said at last. “All the work. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. And, yeah, things have got serious at the moment. Scary at times but that’s the job. I miss you and Dad. I don’t get to see my friends. Perhaps if you help me clear up a bit, we could put the decorations up together?”
“We’ll have to clear up more than a bit,” her mother said crisply. But she smiled. “Come on, let’s see what the Tonks women can do together.”
Even after years of seeing her do it, it was amazing how Andromeda could sort a room or even two. Everything put away, everything tidy. Transformation complete. It was like a weight lifting; Tonks wasn’t normally untidy even if she wasn’t as house-proud as her mother. She brought out the small Christmas tree from the back of the cupboard and they set to work. She wondered what Remus did for Christmas and how he celebrated; he’d mentioned his father a couple of times but she wasn’t sure if they spent it together.
She doubted it, somehow. He seemed to her to be a lonely person – or was that a person alone – who always made the best of things, and was afraid to let people care about him too much.
“You won’t have time for a social life then,” her mother said, arranging fairy lights round the fireplace. “No good asking if you’ve met someone special.”
Tonks, head elsewhere, hesitated. Her mother’s gaze was quickly on her.
“Really?” she said with delight. “That’s a terrible mother’s question, which I shouldn’t have asked and your father will tell me off, but how lovely!”
“No! It’s not lovely! I mean, there is someone I like but he’s a friend. We’re…” She stopped short of saying the fatal we’re just good friends but it left her nowhere to go.
They were good friends, if unlikely ones. Yet it was more than that.
“You know him through work, obviously.” Andromeda was still filling in gaps that shouldn’t have gapped in the first place.
“Well… Yeah.” Tonks, aware of how this would be interpreted and the hole she was digging, didn’t want to be deceitful. “But look, Mum, we really are only friends, and to be honest, he’s not…not…”
“Suitable, I suppose.”
Merlin help her, she nearly laughed. Her mother was smiling at her. She probably wouldn’t if Tonks told her she’d almost certainly been finishing school when her daughter’s ‘friend’ was in his first year. And that was only the initial surprise.
“He can’t possibly be less suitable than people thought your father was for me.”
“Oh, Mum.” Tonks bit her lip, because she couldn’t find anything amusing now, not having had glimpses of what life was like for Remus. “Please can we change the subject? Let’s talk about what I can get Dad for Christmas and why you hate my sparkly lights. Stuff like that.”
“All right, all right. I’ll drop the subject.” Her mother held her hands up in mock surrender. “But before I do— no, don’t look like that at me— before I do, I’m just going to say something. What matters is if he’s a good man, and he’s kind and he cares for you. That's more important than anything else, and I should know. Time goes by far too fast as it is. You don’t want to regret not trying for happiness.”
Thoughts similar to that last one had been floating round and round in Tonks’ head of late. Getting more and more insistent. If only she could be sure how he felt, but maybe you were never sure until you asked the question.
“Sometimes I think you’re a very wise person, Mum,” she said lightly. “But right now I need you to be even wiser and talk about something else. Then help me put this garland up.”
*~*~*
At this time of year, Christmas Eve, Remus was always alone in some way or other. This time he was sat once more in a derelict farm, very cold despite his cloak and two Warming Charms, and with only a herd of sheep for company. They’d got used to his recent appearances and showed no interest in him tonight.
Dumbledore had offered him the night off, but Remus had pointed out that he had no family who would miss him on this special evening, and that others would appreciate it more. Besides, he’d said lightly, knowing Dumbledore shared a similar sense of humour, perhaps even Voldemort would be off somewhere drinking eggnog and pulling a cracker or two.
“I hope you’re right, my boy.” Dumbledore had rubbed his eyes, surveyed Remus through his half-moon glasses. “But I’ve been making the mistakes of an old man all this year, and while it may be the slimmest of chances they’d risk meeting there again, it is a chance. Voldemort won’t have a cease fire for Christmas as you know; if anything he’d love to create more havoc. And as you tell me the best thing I can do for you is to use you, then I will. I’ve just had a similar conversation with Alastor. But it’s not much of a gift to either of you, is it?”
Remus thought being useful was one of the best gifts he could have. Even if a penetrating wind was currently making him question just how much of one it actually was.
He was considering the wisdom of a third Warming Charm, when a wisp of silver, like a thread of mist, caught his eye. It was some distance away by a hedge, but instantly recognizable as a non-corporeal Patronus. As he watched, for a brief second it took a faint form – spellwork that only the most skilful were capable of – and seemed to look in his direction, before dissolving away into the night air.
He knew who it was even before he heard the faint crack of Apparation in the distance, even before he saw her figure circling slowly round to approach him. He sent the signal for safety but kept his wand on her until she came close.
Hers was trained on him.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Her voice was low, the shadows of the night making hollows of her eyes.
“It’s a recent appreciation for sheep.” He didn’t smile. “What are you giving Harry Potter for Christmas?”
“A model Firebolt, which took ages to find. You?”
“Sirius and I bought him a set of books on defensive magic. They also took a lot of finding.”
They lowered their wands. Relaxed. She sat down next to him and gave an amiable grin.
“Thought you might like some company.”
“I thought,” he said carefully, not wanting to reveal how pleased he was, “that only Alastor and I were working tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly working. Dumbledore called me in to tell me I’d got Christmas off, and then he let slip you’d be up here again just as I was thinking up a way to ask what you were doing. So,” she flashed him another smile, “I thought I’d pop along and see if you were in need of festive cheer.”
“Dumbledore told you where I was?” Remus picked up on the first part of the sentence because he thought he may have misheard the second. I was thinking up a way to ask what you doing.
“Let’s say he dropped it casually into the conversation, in that way of his. Probably thought two people freezing their backsides off was better than one. That reminds me—" She broke off, rummaged in her cloak. “Here we go.”
'Here' was a flask and two cups. He thought it was going to be tea, but as she poured, a lock of pink hair falling onto her forehead, he could smell the cheese and herbs and realized it was soup.
“Leek and Stilton, one of Dad’s faves,” she said cheerfully. “I made it this morning. It’ll warm the cockles of your heart, and hopefully everywhere else.”
She held the cup out to him, and he looked into her dark eyes as he drank.
“It really needs some bread to go with it,” she said, but he shook his head and told her it was perfect as it was.
He nearly added that she was perfect, as she was. Who wouldn’t love a witch who brought him hot soup on a freezing night?
“Shouldn’t you be spending this time with your parents?” he asked, trying to clear his head of such thoughts. He had no business thinking such things.
“I’m spending tomorrow with them and staying overnight. Can stay a bit longer now Dumbledore doesn’t need me, which is good. Besides, I’m all organized: nothing to do except sit there and wait for Santa. Are you going to see your dad?”
“No, I’m taking the Weasleys and Harry to see Arthur tomorrow. But I’ve seen a lot of my father recently, and will see him again on Boxing Day.”
“That’s nice.” Nymphadora Tonks smiled again, sat back, and took a drink of soup. Her cloaked shoulder was lightly resting against his.
It had been nice to see his father. Remus had asked to see some old photograph albums, which had led to them talking about his mother, and it was as though his father had been waiting for him to ask for a while. It had, he thought, done them both good. A barrier had come down. Maybe others needed to as well.
“You don’t always realize how tough it is to be a parent.” It was as though she was reading his mind. “Talking’s hard sometimes, much easier to let things slide and then it goes wrong.”
“Yes.” He wondered what she was thinking of.
“Do you want some more soup?” Her hand met his in the dark as held his cup out, and it was soft and warm despite the chill.
Remus let himself pretend, just for a moment. Pretend that he could have what he craved: a life with her. Then he banished that thought, along with all the others. How unfair to her he was being.
“Oh look,” she said, her voice low. “It’s gone midnight. Happy Christmas, Remus.”
“Happy Christmas, Tonks.”
They smiled at each other in the dark, touched the cups together in a toast.
“It’s right cosy up here,” Tonks said, almost laughing, as the wind blew and cut through them both again. “A fine place to spend Christmas morning.”
“The best place,” Remus said with a smile. It was true: right now there was none better he could think of. Nowhere else he’d rather be.
“It is, isn’t it?” said Tonks, and though he told himself he was being ridiculous, once again it felt exactly as if she was reading his mind and all those words he couldn’t say.
*~*~*
gilpin25Title: Best Left Unsaid
Rating & Warnings: PG; none
Word Count: 5,308 words
Prompt(s): 5. At this time of year, Remus’ father would always… 6. Soup
Summary: Remus' father would always send the same invite each year, while Tonks' mother was never someone to be ignored. Their children, meanwhile, have decisions to make. Set in December during OotP.
Notes: One day I'll post before the final day of an event! I've used info from Pottermore in this, to lead into some events that follow later on. Many thanks to all at
rt_morelove who've taken part again; I'm looking forward to reading the other posts.At this time of year, early in December, his father always sent him an invite. It was written on cream parchment in dark blue ink, the distinctive colours Remus’ mother had always favoured. It almost looked like a formal invitation, such as to a wedding or a party, though of course it couldn’t be as it was a caring offer from a much-loved father to a much-wanted son.
The sight of it made that same son feel tired and resentful; then like a miserable toe-rag for feeling either of those things.
“What’s that then?” Sirius was sat on the floor beneath the window, his back against the wall, a mug of tea between his knees. “Seeing as you’re the only person who gets any post round here, I feel it’s your duty to share it amongst those of us who aren’t as popular.”
He was looking better than last night, which wasn’t hard, when Remus had arrived home from a week-long mission to find him as wretched as he’d ever been. A thin, sunken-eyed figure slumped in a chair in the dark; an almost empty bottle in his hand and another at his feet. Kreacher was nearby smirking in a cupboard. Sirius had said little to start with, apart from sorry, and bloody Christmas, but it was enough. Remus had found himself clenching both hands at his sides, trying to control his anger at the set of circumstances – and the people who’d created them – which meant Sirius was frequently more alone here than he’d ever been in Azkaban.
“Moony?”
Remus tossed the parchment to him. Watched Sirius read and frown. Time for the father-son tradition again! The same words every time. Remus imagined his father writing them carefully, wondering whether or not to add something new. Deciding not to risk it.
“What’s this tradition then?” Sirius checked the back of the parchment in case he’d missed something.
“Early Christmas dinner for the two of us. A chat over some Firewhiskey.”
“Sounds like hell.” Sirius took a gulp of tea. “No, it sounds nice. Your old man is nice, isn’t he?”
“Very nice.”
“Is it the food? What’s on the menu?”
“Roast turkey with trimmings. Sage and onion stuffing. Mince pies and brandy butter for dessert.”
“What a bastard. Some parents have no consideration.” Sirius pushed hair off his forehead, which must be aching, if not pounding. “OK, we’ve agreed that he’s good company, provides a decent meal for free, and, unlike if you were dining with my own late and unlamented parents, you wouldn’t have to worry about being poisoned at the soup course. So what’s up? Why don’t you want to go?”
“Who says I don’t want to go?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the solemn, weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders expression. Or the fact the owl that brought it has long since given up waiting for a reply and gone for a nap.”
Remus glanced across. It was true; the speckled owl had its eyes shut and clearly thought this was an opportunity to grab at least forty winks. If not eighty.
How to explain to Sirius? That the love and caring was there, but so was awkwardness. That it wasn’t the difficulty of making conversation as much as the silences which interrupted them. The number of subjects they didn’t mention, or couldn’t. How quiet the Welsh cottage was without his mother. How much they both missed her still. His inability to hold down a job. The Order work he was doing. His lycanthropy.
That last one was a real conversation stopper, as it always was, which was why his father tended to simply ask how he was, Remus would say he was fine, and they’d move on to safer ground, duty done.
There was a new subject to be avoided now as well. The sharp, unexpected divide which had arisen, splitting his life into the time before he met Nymphadora Tonks and the time since then. The world had taken on a different shape and meaning because of a dark-eyed young witch, who was bright, funny, nervous and confident, in ways that could have been meant for him.
But that was only for his dreams. He needed to be grateful for being able to enjoy her company.
He was heartily sick, lately, of having to remember that.
“It must be guilt then, of course. Is that why you find it hard to talk to your father? Or is it him who finds it hard to talk to you?”
Remus looked up, surprised.
Sirius shrugged, had what was almost a rueful smile on his face. “I know listening to people is more your forte than mine, and saying the right thing to them certainly is, but if there’s one thing I’m good at recognizing a mile off, it’s guilt.”
“Well, you’ve got to admit it must be difficult to be the father of a werewolf. To feel your only child was attacked by chance, and that you couldn’t prevent it.” Remus tried to speak lightly. They were only words and facts, after all. “It’s also somewhat difficult to know you were responsible for the constant moving around your parents had to do, how they could never settle for long or make friends with people, and how they spent all their money trying to find a cure that doesn’t exist.”
Sirius nodded, took another swig of tea.
How that life wore my mother out.
Remus didn’t say those words, but they hung there in the dark air of Grimmauld’s kitchen all the same.
“Moony, I don’t remember much of what I rambled on about to you last night—"
“No, you don’t, because for a start it was this morning.” Remus tried to make it into a joke, wanting to get onto a different subject, but Sirius wasn’t having it.
“—but I can guess. You’d be hard pushed to top me for regrets, but one of the biggest is that I didn’t trust the people I should have trusted the most. Along with not talking to the people I should have. Instead I made assumptions and they were nearly all wrong.”
He’d said as much in the early hours. Why didn’t I see through Peter? All he was, I thought, was our friend and a right little twerp. Because none of us did, Remus had said. Not you, not me, not James or Lily and not even Dumbledore.
Perhaps because he wasn’t either a friend or a little twerp, was he?
“My father gives me money as well,” Remus said, making an effort to not repeat those mistakes of the past, when he hadn’t talked either. “An early Christmas gift.”
Sirius did some more slow nodding. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice.” Remus smiled a little. “We seem to have come full circle with this conversation. But you see he gives it me early, because he knows I can use the money at this time of year to buy gifts for others.”
“Look, Moony, if this is about that set of books I suggested we go halves on for Harry, you know I’ll p—"
“No, I will pay my share. I have already told you that.” Remus made himself take a breath. He didn’t want Sirius to think it was bitterness coming out. “I’ll pay my share,” he repeated, more slowly this time. “Don’t misunderstand: I’m grateful to my father. But it should be the other way round. He shouldn’t have a son of my age he still has to support.”
“Once a bloody year? Oh, come on!” The lines had deepened on Sirius’ forehead. “Besides, Moony, that’s what parents do! Most of them, anyway. It’s another subject I’m far from expert on, but most want to help their children out in some way. It’s not a burden to them, it’s not something for you to be ashamed of. It seems to me your dad has come up with the most sensible way to help you that he can. He probably wants you to spend it on yourself!”
“I know. Of course he does. But there’s so little I can do for him in return. And while we can small talk for ever, we struggle when it’s anything that’s difficult.”
Sirius didn’t answer immediately. Remus watched the owl in the corner, snoring gently, and listened to the house making faint creaks and groans. Grimmauld was never quite at rest.
“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions here,” Sirius said at last. “Falling into my trap. The reason for his reticence might not be what you think it is at all.”
Remus started to speak and thought better of it. Sirius didn’t understand the emotions involved – how could he? – but maybe he had a point. He’d never really asked, after all. And if he could alleviate some of his father’s guilt, tell him he was in no way responsible for his son getting bitten all those years ago, then perhaps some of the awkwardness, the discomfort that was never far away, might vanish.
He’d like them both to be able to talk about his mother. The many good memories among the bad. She hadn’t been called Hope for nothing.
“Go on, I dare you. Talk to him,” Sirius said, raising his mug to him. “You might be surprised. New beginnings. Some fool told me that a while back, it might even have been you.”
“Like new moons?” Remus grinned. Every now and then he liked to joke about the lycanthropy, kid himself he was the one in control. It was only a furry little problem after all.
A shame it was a little problem that could kill people, or turn them into monsters. Nymphadora Tonks looked at him with trust at the moment, he couldn’t bear for that to turn to disgust or hate.
Sirius was grinning too, but the expression in his eyes made Remus think it was the painful sympathy of experience.
“Don’t end up with regrets like mine, Moony,” he said. “Do it while you’ve still got the chance.”
At this time of year, about mid-December, Tonks’ mother would always turn up on her doorstep with observant eyes, a large bag and a cake. The latter was beautifully baked, neatly iced, and had a red ribbon round the side. Not forgetting the reindeer and tiny fir tree sprinkled with snow on top.
“You are in then,” Andromeda said, and Tonks wanted to scream.
Well, not scream exactly, but her mother never arrived when the flat was tidy, when Tonks herself was tidy (she was in her lounge-around clothes, and they’d been lounged around in far too much) or when there was plenty of food in. How could she have forgotten this annual event? Already she was wracking her brain as to whether there were any biscuits that weren’t several weeks old to offer with the tea, and cursing because she hadn’t picked any fresh milk up this morning.
“I’m in!” she said brightly. “It’s great to see you, Mum.”
“Well, I thought I’d better come round as we’d almost forgotten what you look like these days.” Andromeda was pausing politely in the lounge as Tonks was still shutting the door with one hand and attempting to hitch her trousers up with the other. They really were ridiculously baggy in the parts that weren’t the shape of her knees and bum. “This isn’t a bad time? I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Oh no, no. Go on in, make yourself at home. I was only, erm, catching up on some paperwork.”
The pile of papers and books covered the little table in the middle of the room. Tonks hastily swept them to one side, allowing her mother to put her bundles down. No hiding the half-drunk glass or the plates she hadn’t cleared away since lunch. What she’d actually been doing was nodding off at 3 on a Sunday afternoon after a night in the freezing cold, watching from a remote farm in Somerset for signs of Death Eater activity. The only activity had come from some inquisitive sheep, and the only form of enjoyment from the company of one Remus Lupin.
“Would you like some tea, Mum? I’ll take your coat as well.”
“That would be nice.” Andromeda had settled herself in the armchair, smoothing her skirt down, and was folding up the newspaper which had been its previous incumbent. Tonks checked that the map of last night’s stake out was pushed under the sofa, though the charms on it meant only she and Remus had been able to decipher it anyway.
The trouble with making tea was her mum was left alone to draw conclusions. A lot of them would be wrong, some would be right (which was almost worse), and a lot would be unexplainable. Tonks wondered if she was looking at the titles of any of the books. Important Modern Magical Discoveries would be OK, but Hairy Snout, Human Heart would certainly raise a well-groomed eyebrow. Of course He Flew Like a Madmen, an autobiography and the kind of book Mum might expect to find her daughter reading on her day off, was at the bottom. Largely forgotten about these days, truth be told, though a month or two ago she’d been glued to it.
She realized one side of her hair was flat where she’d been lying on it and she’d only got one clean cup.
Bugger.
“How’s Dad?” she called, trying to open cupboards quietly in search of non-existent biscuits. She surely hadn’t eaten all the ginger nuts?
“He sends his love. He’d love to see you, you know. I’m not much good at talking Quidditch results and music with him.”
“Right, I know, I know. I miss him, too.” Tonks was reproaching herself even before she thought she could hear it in Andromeda’s voice. What kind of daughter are you? It must be – what? – about three or four weeks since she’d been over there, and she hadn’t owled since last weekend, and Merlin, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was that there were only so many hours in the day and she was being pulled this way and that.
It was her choice, though. Not her parents’ fault.
By some miracle, the final cupboard she opened revealed a packet of shortbread biscuits. No idea what had happened to the ginger nuts but who cared. She tipped them hastily onto a plate, poured the tea, narrowly avoided dropping the saucer, and walked back into the room with what she hoped was a serene smile on her face. While wondering why on earth it was that, much as she loved her mother, five minutes in her company and she was reduced to an impatient, irritable teenager again.
Guilt, she thought, was a killer. Especially when you were the one in the wrong. Remus had said something about guilt last night, while they were sheltering in a derelict outbuilding which the wind howled through. The Order were on high alert after Arthur had been attacked, and a snakeskin which had been shed near the farm made Dumbledore think plans for snatching the Prophecy had been made there. Five freezing hours had flown by in the company of a man with a disarming smile and the ability to make her cheeks ache from trying not to laugh.
Humour seemed the only way to cope with what was happening of late. Dark humour though it was at times.
“Thank you.” Andromeda took a sip of tea. “No tree up yet?”
“No, I haven’t got round to it. Bit late this year.”
“That’s not like you.” Andromeda took another measured sip. “You and your father always said they had to be up early in December to make the most of it.”
“I know, I’ll have to crack on or Dad’ll be on at me.” Tonks looked at the table, which now resembled a food stall at the local Witches’ Institute Fete. “I see you’ve brought a few supplies, Mum. Feeding me up again?”
“You can’t live on sandwiches alone, Nymphadora.” Her mother’s eyes flickered to the floor where the plate of tell-tale crumbs lay, and of course it was true that dinner last night was also a hastily grabbed cheese roll. She’d had literally half an hour after finishing work to get home, have a shower and a change of clothes, and Apparate to the farm. “I did some baking this morning, that’s all.”
“All” included scones, a loaf of bread, and the cake. Along with a plate of cold chicken, another of ham, and a dish of salad. Interesting baking her mum did these days. There was also a bright blue flask. The sight of it gave her a pang: it had accompanied her every term to Hogwarts and for her first two years of Auror training when she’d still lived at home.
“Potato and leek soup,” her mother said, resting an elegant hand on the flask. “Just needs warming up in a pan.”
“Blimey, Mum, what a feast! Enough for a family of six. Thank you. Really, thank you.” Tonks was aware of the false note in her voice – chagrin and gratitude weren’t mixing well – but couldn’t do much about it. “Nothing beats your cooking, it’s like being back home.”
Andromeda gave a small smile. “My soup’s not as tasty as yours. You used to make some lovely ones at the weekends. Your father could never have enough of the minestrone. You used to empty half my cupboards experimenting with it.”
Tonks felt another pang. “Think I liked making soup as it was like messing around with potions. Something interesting always happened.”
“I don’t suppose you cook much for yourself these days.”
“Well, I don’t get a lot of—"
“Time. Yes, I imagine you don’t. So you must have plenty of news to tell me?”
More like plenty she couldn’t tell her. What she did say was that work was mad, Fudge was spending all his time on his smear campaign against Dumbledore and Harry, and the Aurors were being given ever-changing responsibilities. She was in the middle of a diatribe about Fudge’s latest decree when she noticed where her mother’s attention was. The door to her bedroom was open wide enough to see what was piled high on the bed: a weeks’ worth of washing waiting to be put away. Plus the box of decorations waiting to be put up, and the presents she had bought sat waiting to be wrapped.
It was fair to say there wasn’t much of the actual bed visible.
“That’s right,” she heard herself say in a tight voice. “Ideal Homes are coming round later on to take some photographs. It’s for a feature on witches living alone and unable to cope. For your information, Mum, I only have chance to do a massive clean once a week, and if you’d come round tomorrow I’d have done every householdy spell going and the place would be spotless again. And I didn’t just have a cheese sandwich for lunch, I had an apple as well! If you’d bothered to let me know when you were going to turn up I’d—“
“Nymphadora. I haven’t come here to criticize you!”
Her mother’s eyes were wide and hurt. Tonks, brought to an abrupt halt, swallowed hard
“Mum—"
“I’ve come because we’re worried about you, and we miss you.” Andromeda leaned forward in her chair, and Tonks saw that what she’d thought of as disapproval and disappointment was no such thing.
Her mother was scared for her.
“We read the papers every day, your father and I,” she said, leaning forward, “and listen to the news. We know the Aurors are on the front line. We know you do work for Albus Dumbledore. We know Arthur Weasley’s been badly hurt and is in hospital because I saw Molly yesterday.” She held her hand up to forestall what Tonks was about to say. “We know you’re sworn to secrecy, and that it’s for our protection as much as yours. But that doesn’t stop us worrying, especially when we don’t see or hear from you. We lived through a war before, remember?”
“Mum, I—"
“We don’t want to interfere but we do want to help,” her mother said, with characteristic firmness. “I don’t care if your flat isn’t tidy, but I do care if you’re tired and not eating properly. Because that won’t help you do a dangerous job. And I do care if your tree isn’t up and the place isn’t covered in annoying sparkly lights, because that’s not my daughter!”
There was a silence. Tonks wondered why she always forgot how kind her mother was. Her dad, too. Mostly she wondered why it was so hard to admit some things to yourself. Why it was so important for her parents to always see her as the clichéd 'strong, independent woman', when they’d never suggested they didn’t love her as herself.
“It is a lot,” she said at last. “All the work. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but it doesn’t leave much time for anything else. And, yeah, things have got serious at the moment. Scary at times but that’s the job. I miss you and Dad. I don’t get to see my friends. Perhaps if you help me clear up a bit, we could put the decorations up together?”
“We’ll have to clear up more than a bit,” her mother said crisply. But she smiled. “Come on, let’s see what the Tonks women can do together.”
Even after years of seeing her do it, it was amazing how Andromeda could sort a room or even two. Everything put away, everything tidy. Transformation complete. It was like a weight lifting; Tonks wasn’t normally untidy even if she wasn’t as house-proud as her mother. She brought out the small Christmas tree from the back of the cupboard and they set to work. She wondered what Remus did for Christmas and how he celebrated; he’d mentioned his father a couple of times but she wasn’t sure if they spent it together.
She doubted it, somehow. He seemed to her to be a lonely person – or was that a person alone – who always made the best of things, and was afraid to let people care about him too much.
“You won’t have time for a social life then,” her mother said, arranging fairy lights round the fireplace. “No good asking if you’ve met someone special.”
Tonks, head elsewhere, hesitated. Her mother’s gaze was quickly on her.
“Really?” she said with delight. “That’s a terrible mother’s question, which I shouldn’t have asked and your father will tell me off, but how lovely!”
“No! It’s not lovely! I mean, there is someone I like but he’s a friend. We’re…” She stopped short of saying the fatal we’re just good friends but it left her nowhere to go.
They were good friends, if unlikely ones. Yet it was more than that.
“You know him through work, obviously.” Andromeda was still filling in gaps that shouldn’t have gapped in the first place.
“Well… Yeah.” Tonks, aware of how this would be interpreted and the hole she was digging, didn’t want to be deceitful. “But look, Mum, we really are only friends, and to be honest, he’s not…not…”
“Suitable, I suppose.”
Merlin help her, she nearly laughed. Her mother was smiling at her. She probably wouldn’t if Tonks told her she’d almost certainly been finishing school when her daughter’s ‘friend’ was in his first year. And that was only the initial surprise.
“He can’t possibly be less suitable than people thought your father was for me.”
“Oh, Mum.” Tonks bit her lip, because she couldn’t find anything amusing now, not having had glimpses of what life was like for Remus. “Please can we change the subject? Let’s talk about what I can get Dad for Christmas and why you hate my sparkly lights. Stuff like that.”
“All right, all right. I’ll drop the subject.” Her mother held her hands up in mock surrender. “But before I do— no, don’t look like that at me— before I do, I’m just going to say something. What matters is if he’s a good man, and he’s kind and he cares for you. That's more important than anything else, and I should know. Time goes by far too fast as it is. You don’t want to regret not trying for happiness.”
Thoughts similar to that last one had been floating round and round in Tonks’ head of late. Getting more and more insistent. If only she could be sure how he felt, but maybe you were never sure until you asked the question.
“Sometimes I think you’re a very wise person, Mum,” she said lightly. “But right now I need you to be even wiser and talk about something else. Then help me put this garland up.”
At this time of year, Christmas Eve, Remus was always alone in some way or other. This time he was sat once more in a derelict farm, very cold despite his cloak and two Warming Charms, and with only a herd of sheep for company. They’d got used to his recent appearances and showed no interest in him tonight.
Dumbledore had offered him the night off, but Remus had pointed out that he had no family who would miss him on this special evening, and that others would appreciate it more. Besides, he’d said lightly, knowing Dumbledore shared a similar sense of humour, perhaps even Voldemort would be off somewhere drinking eggnog and pulling a cracker or two.
“I hope you’re right, my boy.” Dumbledore had rubbed his eyes, surveyed Remus through his half-moon glasses. “But I’ve been making the mistakes of an old man all this year, and while it may be the slimmest of chances they’d risk meeting there again, it is a chance. Voldemort won’t have a cease fire for Christmas as you know; if anything he’d love to create more havoc. And as you tell me the best thing I can do for you is to use you, then I will. I’ve just had a similar conversation with Alastor. But it’s not much of a gift to either of you, is it?”
Remus thought being useful was one of the best gifts he could have. Even if a penetrating wind was currently making him question just how much of one it actually was.
He was considering the wisdom of a third Warming Charm, when a wisp of silver, like a thread of mist, caught his eye. It was some distance away by a hedge, but instantly recognizable as a non-corporeal Patronus. As he watched, for a brief second it took a faint form – spellwork that only the most skilful were capable of – and seemed to look in his direction, before dissolving away into the night air.
He knew who it was even before he heard the faint crack of Apparation in the distance, even before he saw her figure circling slowly round to approach him. He sent the signal for safety but kept his wand on her until she came close.
Hers was trained on him.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Her voice was low, the shadows of the night making hollows of her eyes.
“It’s a recent appreciation for sheep.” He didn’t smile. “What are you giving Harry Potter for Christmas?”
“A model Firebolt, which took ages to find. You?”
“Sirius and I bought him a set of books on defensive magic. They also took a lot of finding.”
They lowered their wands. Relaxed. She sat down next to him and gave an amiable grin.
“Thought you might like some company.”
“I thought,” he said carefully, not wanting to reveal how pleased he was, “that only Alastor and I were working tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly working. Dumbledore called me in to tell me I’d got Christmas off, and then he let slip you’d be up here again just as I was thinking up a way to ask what you were doing. So,” she flashed him another smile, “I thought I’d pop along and see if you were in need of festive cheer.”
“Dumbledore told you where I was?” Remus picked up on the first part of the sentence because he thought he may have misheard the second. I was thinking up a way to ask what you doing.
“Let’s say he dropped it casually into the conversation, in that way of his. Probably thought two people freezing their backsides off was better than one. That reminds me—" She broke off, rummaged in her cloak. “Here we go.”
'Here' was a flask and two cups. He thought it was going to be tea, but as she poured, a lock of pink hair falling onto her forehead, he could smell the cheese and herbs and realized it was soup.
“Leek and Stilton, one of Dad’s faves,” she said cheerfully. “I made it this morning. It’ll warm the cockles of your heart, and hopefully everywhere else.”
She held the cup out to him, and he looked into her dark eyes as he drank.
“It really needs some bread to go with it,” she said, but he shook his head and told her it was perfect as it was.
He nearly added that she was perfect, as she was. Who wouldn’t love a witch who brought him hot soup on a freezing night?
“Shouldn’t you be spending this time with your parents?” he asked, trying to clear his head of such thoughts. He had no business thinking such things.
“I’m spending tomorrow with them and staying overnight. Can stay a bit longer now Dumbledore doesn’t need me, which is good. Besides, I’m all organized: nothing to do except sit there and wait for Santa. Are you going to see your dad?”
“No, I’m taking the Weasleys and Harry to see Arthur tomorrow. But I’ve seen a lot of my father recently, and will see him again on Boxing Day.”
“That’s nice.” Nymphadora Tonks smiled again, sat back, and took a drink of soup. Her cloaked shoulder was lightly resting against his.
It had been nice to see his father. Remus had asked to see some old photograph albums, which had led to them talking about his mother, and it was as though his father had been waiting for him to ask for a while. It had, he thought, done them both good. A barrier had come down. Maybe others needed to as well.
“You don’t always realize how tough it is to be a parent.” It was as though she was reading his mind. “Talking’s hard sometimes, much easier to let things slide and then it goes wrong.”
“Yes.” He wondered what she was thinking of.
“Do you want some more soup?” Her hand met his in the dark as held his cup out, and it was soft and warm despite the chill.
Remus let himself pretend, just for a moment. Pretend that he could have what he craved: a life with her. Then he banished that thought, along with all the others. How unfair to her he was being.
“Oh look,” she said, her voice low. “It’s gone midnight. Happy Christmas, Remus.”
“Happy Christmas, Tonks.”
They smiled at each other in the dark, touched the cups together in a toast.
“It’s right cosy up here,” Tonks said, almost laughing, as the wind blew and cut through them both again. “A fine place to spend Christmas morning.”
“The best place,” Remus said with a smile. It was true: right now there was none better he could think of. Nowhere else he’d rather be.
“It is, isn’t it?” said Tonks, and though he told himself he was being ridiculous, once again it felt exactly as if she was reading his mind and all those words he couldn’t say.
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Date: 2018-02-03 05:03 pm (UTC)This is a lovely exploration of intertwining themes of family and friendship and friendship-or-maybe-something-more, and of the many kinds of guilt we feel towards the people we care about – and how often the things we feel guilty aren’t what the other person is thinking at all.
And I love your little details, like the owl taking a nap, or Hairy Snout, Human Heart – that made me laugh out loud!
I always love seeing Remus-and-Sirius friendship, and Sirius here rang so true – angry, depressed, but still able to be a good friend. Particularly the line “Sounds like hell.” Sirius took a gulp of tea. “No, it sounds nice. Your old man is nice, isn’t he?” really struck me – even after all this time, Sirius instinctively associates "family" with "horribleness" and has to actively remind himself that not everyone's life was like that.
And Remus, of course. Remus.
Remus thought being useful was one of the best gifts he could have feels so incredibly Remus. And: Remus imagined his father writing them carefully, wondering whether or not to add something new. Deciding not to risk it. – HA, so we see where Remus got his personality from!
And this line is so wonderfully true for Tonks and Remus: They were good friends, if unlikely ones.
“He can’t possibly be less suitable than people thought your father was for me.” – Ouch. Because of course he is "unsuitable" (in society's eyes), in a way Andromeda hasn't even imagined. But Andromeda's assessment about what really matters – if he’s a good man, and he’s kind and he cares for you – is so lovely, and just the right thing for Tonks to hear, to confirm what she already believes.
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Date: 2018-02-27 11:22 pm (UTC)I may frame the line about assured writing, because it was anything but at the start, and the opening got re-written several times! It's nice to hear Sirius came across well as I often feel I never quite get to grips with him. I enjoy exploring their friendship because, for two men still only in their mid-thirties, there's a heck of a lot of history and undercurrents in there! My Sirius here would definitely remind himself that Lyall was a decent man and father, partly to introduce some levity into the conversation and mostly because for Sirius his friends were his family.
When I first read the Pottermore section on Remus, it seemed there were obvious similarities between him and his father, not least their wish to protect people and how they tell the truth but only some of it. Again, another fascinating relationship to explore.
As for the Andromeda and Tonks conversation, I tried to have Andromeda apparently saying the wrong thing, but they are words which will resonate deeply with Tonks as they sum up what is of the most importance here. It'll certainly add some spice to that first meeting with her daughter's husband-to-be sometime in the future, lol.
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Date: 2018-02-28 07:58 pm (UTC)Ooh, yes, I'd love to read your take on Andromeda meeting Remus! My headcanon is that they'd met in the past at least in passing, through Sirius, but I'd be curious to read yours, too!