Tonks (doratheauror) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-03-31 23:34:00 |
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Tonks felt raw once the sobs finally subsided--she didn’t really believe that they were gone for good, she just thought her body was too exhausted and dehydrated to produce anymore. With a shaky, stilted exhale, she observed that Remus’ jumper was very damp, but she didn’t have the energy or humor to joke about it. Despite her mother’s death being an all too real possibility since the creation of the Muggleborn Registration Committee, Tonks realized now that she hadn’t ever really believed that she would die. Tonks couldn’t really say what had spurred this delusion on, whether naivety over never having lost a close friend or family member before, or if it had been faith in her own abilities and those of the Order as a whole to keep her mother safe. More than perhaps all of that, though, Tonks gave voice to one of the recurring thoughts that had been going through her mind as she wept, “I still thought she was indestructible,” she admitted to Remus, her voice dry and weak, “Like kids do. I never thought this was really going to happen.” Grief as collective hadn’t been Remus’ experience; life, moreover, having been characterised by the slings and arrows coming, then solitude swift upon it. So now, he had determined to be the rock that the Tonks women needed in the wake of Ted’s loss. He could be this for them. Particularly with his arms wrapped firmly around Tonks, even as he released one to sneak a handkerchief into her grip. A beat. He considered Ted’s loss, and her sacrifice, marveling at this instinctive act of love. “That’s what she would have you to believe,” he surmised quietly, trying to infuse his wife with a modicum of hope. Stuff which he had never allowed himself until her. “And I still think it was reasonable of you to think her indestructible.” Tonks took a moment to wipe her face and blow her nose with the handkerchief Remus had offered. “I hadn’t even told her yet what we decided to name the baby,” she continued. “I just assumed she’d be there--” she said, her voice cracking again as a new rush of anxiety roiled through her. Naturally she wanted both her parents to see her through this, any new mother wanted that, but her mother had also been her healer. Now it dawned on Tonks that she’d need to find a new one, a week or so away from the birth, someone she could never trust as much as her own mother. “We need a new healer,” she said miserably. “I did,” Remus said after a moment. He let his fingertips drift across her nape and fall upon her shoulder. “I told her the night before, actually.” It might have been something to share between mother and daughter but in hindsight, he was so glad he did. Then — “It’ll be nothing like your own Mum. And I will kill Bellatrix for so many reasons, but also for taking this from you. But we could ask Leon.” “Good,” Tonks sniffed, a pause before asking, “What did she think?” and tried not to fall apart again at the reminder that she couldn't ask her mum this herself. Tonks nodded at the suggestion of Leon, but her jaw was still rigid from hearing Bellatrix’s name. After a long moment, she finally said, “She was trying to kill her own sister.” Tonks pressed the heel of her hand into her eyes, though they were still dry. “It doesn't surprise me, but…” she shook her head, finding no words. “ … her devotion is beyond comprehension,” was his summation of what he saw as taking loyalty and going beyond the pale. It was clear to him that Bellatrix was a threat to his family and his son, more than ever, and though he longed to spark up revenge, it was still Tonks in his arms who needed him. “Your Mum loved it. She was looking forward to two Teds in the world.” Tonks’ brow furrowed at Remus’ word choice--devotion was a word she associated with her family, Remus, their little Teddy. People she loved, in other words, but she supposed Bellatrix must love Voldemort, making the word apt. “She's devoted to only one person, then,” she remarked, wondering how a person could become twisted enough to love a tyrant more than their own sister. “I wish there really was going to be two,” she said faintly. Me too — it felt contrived, so he didn’t say it. No one could want it more than Tonks. And he wanted her to have that moment. So Remus leaned forward, producing a mug of cocoa to offer her. “Tell me about the first time you two met.” Tonks accepted the cocoa with a faint smile of thanks, sipping on it as she paused to think about the question, “I was very young,” she explained, “I'm not sure if I can remember it properly on my own, but my parents said I yanked her hair--since it's…was so curly, you know, something any toddler would love. And then I made my own hair change to hers,” she said, letting off some semblance of a watery half-laugh at the image. “They hadn't really discussed my being a metamorphmagus, so it was a surprise. She laughed. I think I remember that, her face and the sound and being pleased that I caused it,” she said. “I better remember being surprised that she hadn't always been with us, when I was old enough to have all that explained to me. But I figured soon after it didn't really change how we felt about one another.” Remus smiled at the memory, eyes crinkling at how honestly and easily they had come to love and respect one another. He loved Tonks, yes. But he loved all of them and accounted himself hellaciously lucky to be permitted within this circle. “Sometimes, and this is trite but true, our family is knit together out of chance and circumstance. I’m glad she became your Mum. I see so much of her in your indomitable will, your fairness …” he winked … “and your damn good looks.” Tonks let out another feeble, yet no less heartfelt laugh, leaning her head into Remus’ shoulder, “I definitely take that as the highest of compliments,” she said. Tentatively then, Tonks asked, “What was it like losing your parents?” It was something they hadn't spoken of much, likely given how many terrible things were already going on in the present; yet now, this was another thing they shared. Remus considered her question before sighing. It didn’t seem fair to encumber her with his thoughts about Hope and Lyall. How he’d lost them when he was a boy. Their deaths had been the second farewell he’d experienced. “I remember how I loved bugging my Mum in the kitchen. She did a lot of baking for the ladies in York and a lot of folks bought her cakes and things. She would take a second to stop me from snatching at the icing, then sit me in a chair by the fire where she’d read to me.” He swallowed. Those were the times as a boy he’d felt loved and secure. Back warm from a kitchen fire, his mother’s alto reciting whatever he’d pushed into her hands. “You’re constantly aware of the idea that you’re now an orphan. It doesn’t matter how old you are.” He paused. “I was lucky that I could start building my family then. James and Sirius and Lily.” He laid his lips briefly against her temple. “And now you. And soon, Teddy.” A small smile at the warm, childhood memory gradually turned to a frown at Remus next words, even though he ended on a good note. “I know I’m lucky to still have my mum, and you and Teddy” Tonks said, “But I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling her absence.” “ -- you won’t, and that’s okay,” he told her and turned, catching her cheek in his hand. “No one expects you to.” Tonks leaned her cheek into his palm, “I hope to be as good of a mum to Teddy as she was to me,” she said. “Maybe that will help keep her present, at least to some degree.” “You will be,” he said, voice infused with conviction. “And we all lead by example. She’ll be in you like she is right now.” |