A/N: This story was originally published on 1 December, 2005 to the now defunct Checkmated HP fan fiction web site.

Remus Lupin sat perched upon a barstool in the Singing Tadpole, the last patron left in the old pub he'd been visiting since he was a lad. While a jazzy number played quietly on the wireless he stared at nothing, lost in thought as Gordon, the kind but somewhat ragged owner, set about shutting the place down.

The gentle clunk of his empty glass against the stained and scratched wooden bar was enough to signal that he was ready for another round of Smethwyk scotch. It was a rare blend and Remus's favourite, and this was the only place he'd ever found that served it. Gordon finished wiping down the taps before reaching for the bottle. Flipping the towel over his shoulder he turned to Remus then, and poured another measure into the glass.

"Not trouble at home, is it?" Gordon asked, looking him in the eye for the first time that evening.

Remus knew they'd get down to brass tacks as soon as the place finally emptied out; this was an established pattern they had repeated countless times. Throughout the years Gordon had served as enabler, friend, counselor, and confessor — just as any good publican would. In fact, Sirius used to call him Father Tadpole, on account of the multitude of secrets he'd kept about all of them without ever betraying a single thing.

"No." Remus shook his head. "We're fine. She's—" He smiled faintly. "Wonderful."

"Good. Good. Glad to hear it," Gordon nodded gruffly. "In that case I should think you'd be on top of the world."

"You're right. I should be. And I am."

"Yet you've stayed late to chat up an old toss-pot like me when you could be at home — in bed with your pink-haired girl."

Although he considered himself too old for it, Remus felt his face burn with a blush. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

"She went to visit her mother tonight, although—" He pushed back the sleeve of his jumper to check his watch. "She should be home by now."

"Then?"

Remus lapsed into silence again. He wasn't sure how to say what was on his mind, or if he should even bother; he had a feeling it would sound remarkably stupid once he said it out loud.

"Gordon, do you have any idea what it's like to walk through life constantly being labeled?" he asked quietly.

Thought lines deepened around the older man's eyes and he breathed a heavy sigh. "Well, it's no lie I've been on the receivin' end of my share of judgments and assumptions. It's what people do, and I reckon it's a part of livin'. But that's not to say I know what it's been like for someone like you."

"Someone like me," Remus repeated dully.

"Now don't go misunderstandin' me, Remus," Gordon said sternly. "I've known what you are since the old days — when the whole cheeky lot of you first started comin' here. You know I don't give a damn you're a werewolf."

"Yes, I know that, Gordon, and I appreciate the sentiment. But that's not what I meant."

Gordon looked puzzled. "Not what you meant." He flung a quick spell toward the door to lock it, then another that turned out the pub sign. Pulling a stool near to the opposite side of the bar, he settled down and began to count his earnings for the day. "All right then. What did you mean?"

Remus thought for a minute while he let a sip of scotch blaze down his throat. "May I ask you something?" He took Gordon's amiable shrug as an okay to press on. "What did you think — when I first brought her in here?"

"Honestly?" Gordon kept his gaze focused on the mountain of coins he was slowly sorting into piles.

Bracing himself, Remus took a deep, silent breath. "Please."

"She seemed a little too young for you. Not just in years but in sensibility, like. I'd never've pegged you for the sort who'd fancy wild hair and clothes," he glanced up, "if you don't mind my sayin'."

"I asked for your impression so there's no need to apologise."

"Oh, I've changed my mind since," his old friend continued good-naturedly. "There's more to her than first meets the eye, and no arguing she's been good for you. Bad for my business, mind, since you're not in here drownin' your sorrows much anymore, but good for you." He winked.

"But you weren't…surprised?"

"Well, I'd never met a Metamorphmagus before," Gordon mused, almost to himself. "Or an Auror either, now I think of it. But I wouldn't say I was surprised, exactly. Why?"

Remus stared into his glass for a few seconds before draining it. "Then you're one of the few."

Gordon finished counting out another ten-Galleon stack before reaching back behind him for the scotch bottle. Giving his sole patron a sideways glance of concern, he uncorked it and refilled the glass to half again.

"One of the few?"

"Yes. One of the few who didn't assume that I'm — that I prefer men." Remus felt his face burn again. While Gordon's dumbfounded stare ought to have made him feel better, it didn't. "Oddly enough, the werewolf label has been far easier to live down."

"Well, I never thought—" Gordon was still staring.

"Never? Not even twenty years ago — when we all used to come in here all the time? Because that's when the rumours started."

"What rumours? I never heard any rumours."

"The rumours about Sirius and me."

Gordon tipped his head forward, a trace of stunned disbelief still on his face. "You mean, that you and Sirius were some kind of—"

"Lovers," Remus supplied in a hollow voice.

For a few seconds they were both speechless, and Remus began to question the wisdom of his decision to share this particular burden with Father Tadpole. But before he could truly second-guess it the quiet was overwhelmed with hearty laughter.

Quickly realising he was the only one laughing, Gordon restrained himself. "Sorry. Not funny to you, I reckon."

"Not really, no, although it's apparently a reflection on my sense of humour. Sirius always found the reports of our supposedly torrid relationship quite amusing." Remus sipped from his glass again. "Then again, he found everything amusing — and rarely stopped long enough to give a damn what anyone ever thought about anything."

Gordon went back to counting his coins. "Why you and Sirius?" He shook his head. "I can't imagine a less likely pair."

"I don't know. But over the years the whispers grew into legend — a legend that's had an unchecked, thoroughly adulterated life of its own. Apparently we'd done everything from canine sex to singing cabaret in München at the weekend."

"Oh, don't say that," Gordon was laughing again, "or I'll have to gouge out my mind's eye."

Remus tried to laugh too but he didn't feel it inside, and the small smile he'd managed slowly melted away. "I'm embarrassed to say it, but—"

"There's no judgment here, lad, you know that."

"When Sirius was sent to Azkaban, I thought — hoped the rumours would stop." He sighed heavily. "They never did. If anything, they gained strength."

"How do you account for that?"

"Because I never married. Never had a woman in my life in a visible way. That only fed the legend. I've heard I was too heartbroken over Sirius's incarceration," Remus said, his voice quiet yet laced with sarcasm. "It doesn't make any sense."

"I remember when he was arrested. You believed him guilty, didn't you?"

"Yes. I did. We all did." Remus let himself drift along in his thoughts for a minute. "And that would mean then, according to the myth, that I never questioned what happened — and simply believed the worst of someone I supposedly loved, leaving him to rot. That or I spent twelve years pining for an unrepentant murderer. I'm insulted anyone would think I'd do either one of those things."

"Like you said though, Remus, it doesn't make any sense."

"The irony is, my other label — the one of monster — the one I expected to be judged by — was largely ignored over the years. But I suppose being a werewolf wasn't an entertaining enough reason to explain why I lived alone."

Except for the clinking of coins and the soft sounds from the wireless, the pub fell silent as Remus worked to master his feelings. Alcohol and a long history of trust had ushered his emotions right out on his sleeve, and while he had nothing to prove or hide from old Gordon, it still wasn't easy to let go of things he'd held close for so long.

"I don't expect anyone to understand what it's like," he said finally, absently turning his glass anti-clockwise in the same spot. "To fear and detest the creature that lives inside you so much — that every choice you make — everything you do is a conscious effort to distance yourself from it."

Gordon sighed sympathetically. "I'm sure that's true."

"I wanted people to think of me as kind, gentle, thoughtful, selfless, approachable. Benign. I thought if I behaved in those ways when I could, I'd be forgiven for the times when I couldn't."

"Are you thinkin' now that was a mistake?"

"Mmm," Remus shook his head slightly as he took another swallow of fire from his glass. "Not a mistake, no. But there's no denying that my dedication to being soft-spoken and restrained, and not feeling within my rights to have a woman in my life, only managed to lead to a different sort of judgment. And I find that depressing."

"Well," Gordon scribbled his finished count on a slip of paper, and then herded the piles of Galleons and assorted change into separate leather bags. "I know it's easy for me to say, but you can't spend your life too worried about what other people are thinkin'."

"I don't regret it, really, if that's what you mean."

"That's good then. No regrets is always best."

Remus nodded. "Having a sense of humility saved me. It kept me alive long enough that I could learn to stop hating myself — and accept I could love someone without ruining their life. It took a long time to get here, and I never would have without her." As the heart on his sleeve tugged at him in earnest, he hesitated for an instant and then drained his glass again. "I'd never felt I was worthy of anyone before — and people don't seem to realise that limitation would've applied to Sirius too, God rest his soul, had I actually ever felt that way about him."

Gordon smiled at him thoughtfully for a moment, then reached for another glass and poured himself a shot along with Remus. "Is it my turn to ask something?"

"Sure."

"Why all this now, when everything in your life seems to be set so fair? You know the truth. Your girlfriend knows the truth. Everyone who knows you well knows it. Even Sirius did. So I don't really understand the problem."

The jazz on the wireless blended with the buzz in his mind, and Remus watched his thumbnail as it slid aimlessly along an old groove in the bar. "I just don't want any of it to touch her."

"And you're afraid it will?"

"It already has." At Gordon's questioning glance, Remus went on. "I ran into an old acquaintance the other day — one who has notoriously demonstrated intolerance of me — for any and every reason under the moon. All I can say is, the old rumours about me persist, my friend. Only now, she's being dragged into it."

"How can that be?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"Well, what does Tonks have to say about all this?"

"She says she doesn't care," Remus said as evenly as he could, fully aware that Gordon was eyeing him closely again. "She…loves me." He laughed softly. "Sometimes I still can't believe it, but I concede she'd have to — or else the rest wouldn't be worth it. Despite my hopes and intentions, I'm not an easy man to live with."

"Doesn't look to me as if she's sufferin' terribly."

Beaming a crafty smile, Gordon pointed his wand toward the front door and unlocked it. Remus turned just in time to see Tonks's profile disappear from the window and an instant later she stepped in, closing the heavy door behind her before making her way over to stand at his side.

"Wotcher, Gordon," she said warmly. Tonks turned her dark eyes toward Remus, and as he reached out for her she slipped her arm around him and leaned near. "I thought I'd find you here, love."

She made a show of kissing him soundly, and for the third time that evening Remus felt a blush burn his skin. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist giving her a brief follow-up kiss before self-consciously shifting his gaze back to Gordon, who now had an unnerving grin on his face.

"What?" Remus asked through his own smile.

"Nothing," Gordon's grin widened a bit more, "I was just thinkin'. Maybe I'll start a few rumours of my own."

"Oh, please no," Remus returned, laughing out loud now. "I want to live in peace, not in pieces."

Gordon laughed too and appeared to shrug it off, although it was impossible to tell if he'd truly been dissuaded from whatever devious thoughts had been forming.

Remus felt Tonks's hand come to rest on his thigh beneath the bar. It was a private message that she was anxious to get home, and the ideas it gave him made his head swim more than the scotch.

"Well, I suppose I ought to settle up, Father Tadpole," said Remus.

"What, and ruin my count?" Gordon scoffed. "Forget it. Tonight's on me."

"But I nearly finished it off."

"Not a problem, Remus. I keep this particular brand on hand just for you. You're the only Smethwyk man I know." Gordon turned the bottle and tilted it back to get a better look. "And that's the closest thing to a label you'll ever get in here."

Remus gave his old friend a grateful smile. "I can live with that."