While this story does not contain graphic adult content, please take note of sexual themes throughout.

This is a first venture into Remus' perspective. I would love to hear your thoughts.

A Moonless Sky

Upon reflection, most would have judged that our story was cut short. Cruelly, abruptly and unnecessarily taken from our eager grasp as we barely took those first tentative steps on uncertain baby's legs. I know different, because what we had for those hectic, beautiful months was more than I had ever expected to have.

She made my life, that girl with pink hair.

Too young; so full of life so infectious that it was almost impossible not to smile in her presence. She radiated energy. It filled up a room like light, and it filled my heart. And through all the disguises, all of those Tonks', she was so honest, so painfully sincere I couldn't not love her. I couldn't describe, even now, the extent to which she worked her way under my skin. Looking back, I should have shown some sort of natural resistance; a side effect of years of age and experience surely?

When, finally, I was through with fighting, I found her standing outside the Hog's Head. The shock of Dumbledore's death still rang true in both of us, and things were delicate.

I questioned why she was standing outside, and she said she couldn't quite explain it. She simply couldn't bring herself to go inside. I tried not to sob; I understood fully the fear of walking in and seeing Aberforth. So nearly the man they all wanted to see, but still not even close.

It was dark as we stood in the street aimlessly, and the lament had ended. Silence rang louder than anything, the idea of us together hung between us, and I pulled her close and she wrapped herself around me. Dumbledore was in us. His presence crept up in every howl of the wind and the stars watched as, finally, I gave in.

Her lips tasted like tears, that night. I suspected mine did too. Greif tasted like love, and love tasted like grief, and I was so confused. But she was there, and I was tired. Tired of not letting myself love her. She needed it as much as I. She told me that she couldn't figure out if she was happy or sad, and I agreed, but her eyes were happy. Those sparkling, dark eyes held joy. Her skin held grief and her eyelashes were damp but those eyes...

They were my anchor.

I had been adrift for so long, and once I was on dry land, I wondered how on earth I had endured the sea sickness.

We went up to her room above the apocathery, and I showed her. I showed her just how sorry I was, and I think she understood. I could never be the whole man that she needed, but if she wanted me who was I to refuse her? She pulled me in, and every part of her felt like warmth and acceptance and a safe shelter from the rain.

We made love that night. I wondered whether I should have waited; given her more time and done things properly. But then it all came back to me, and I realised that our days were numbered. And she was arching beneath me and her words were a whisper against my cheek and I let myself get lost. It didn't matter if one day this would all end, because we had each other right now. That was all that mattered; the now. And oh god, did she know what feeling her heels dig into the backs of my thighs did to me?

We woke in the morning to a world without Dumbledore.

If I had known, just how numbered out days were, I would have given in sooner. So much sooner.

A week later, the full moon came.

Tonks stayed with me as long as possible, until finally I had to practically push her up down the attic stairs so she wouldn't see me change. She fussed around for so long, making sure I had enough water and something to eat and a blanket for when I changed back in the morning. I stayed huddled in the corner and gave her tense answers, wishing that she would leave. I was loathing granting myself the comfort of her presence. I just wanted the moon over and done with for another month and I wanted her safe and human and whole downstairs and out of the reach of my sharp claws.

I realised then that this would be the most difficult thing; this time of the month when all of my inadequacies hung in the air as though written in fire. The gulf between us seemed so massive, and I couldn't bear how whole and soft she was.

She looked so young as she looked at him, wiping her hands nervously on her jeans. There were huge rips in her denim, and the not so uncommon urge to nibble and kiss at her legs through the holes seemed so shameful and I screwed up my eyes and groaned in frustration, telling to her leave and that I would see her in the morning.

I knew she would worry; I could feel her lips trembling in fear as she kissed me goodnight. I tried to smile, but it came out like a grimace.

The clock was ticking; time was running out. She needed to go.

A few moments later, and my bones were cracking their way through the transformation, my skin ripping apart and the agony of what I was becoming set in. My last thought that night, before I became the monster within, was her face. I half imagined that she got me through it; her warm face dragged me through the endless night, and when I woke in the morning to stiff bones and a headache to end all headaches, she was there in my pyjamas looking like she'd had no sleep at all.

She had kissed every bruise and cut, and I almost believed that I felt them heal at the touch of her lips. It was all too much, and I needed the softness of her, so I tugged her out of the pyjamas and into my arms. I was too tired to make love to her, but I needed the soft press of her against me and the warmth of her bare skin. I lost track of how long we lay on the blanket like that, but she was better than any healing potion I had ever taken, and everywhere her body touched tingled with a new lease of life.

Something was tickling my feet and I looked down to see two fluffy cartoon Grindylow slippers on her feet, and she was the best thing in the world. Better than Hogwarts, or the summer sun.

Better than a sky free of the moon.

Ted Tonks certainly lived up to the expectations of a father-in-law. I could feel his hard stare from the back of the tiny chapel. I tried to ignore it; perhaps I was just imagining it? But no, glancing around, I saw that the man was looking at me as though preparing to restrain me if I tried to make a run for it. I couldn't see what else I could do to please him; we had even had the service in a muggle church because of Ted's muggle background. I was wondering if a father's eyes really could burn a hole in the back of a man's head when the organ signalled the arrival of Tonks.

Suddenly, none of it seemed enough. There weren't enough people and she should be having something more special as her big day and I wanted to cry as I saw her walk up the aisle with pale yellow robes that clashed horribly with her pink hair because she was just too perfect. She was beaming at me, and I didn't even notice her father.

Ted gave her away with watery eyes and sat down, and I took her hand. It was us now, forever. For as long as we had. As long as we were given.

The man who married us was a Ministry official who had cut himself loose from the corruption and gone freelance. His voice was old and wise as he blessed our union. Our hands linked, and tied, and I felt it right to my core. And extension of each other. Her arm was my arm, and her heart my heart. The link flared between us, set on fire.

I should have asked her to marry me on that first day; that first day I met her.

Her voice rang out loud and true as she said her vows, and she grinned widely at me as I said mine.

The half-dozen cheers rang through the little stone building, and Andromeda was wiping away tears and Ted was clapping me on the back a little too roughly. I thought briefly of the people who should have been there; I thought of black hair that should have been arrogantly tossed and green eyes and red hair. But then, as I looked up at the sky and saw the summer sun peeking out from between the clouds, I realised that they had been there all along.

Nymphadora was my wife. And she was so perfect that I ached inside.

The wedding night was unhurried and gentle, in our bed. With no one to hear us cry out and the possibility of a lifetime of bliss stretched out before us like a carpet asking to be walked. The warm summer air pressed in on our skin and there was a constant shifting, and restless whirl of movement and a battle for control. I lost track of what was me and what was Dora, and where the sheets were and whether we were still even in the bed.

She bit down onto my shoulder to muffle some of the louder sounds, and I realised that I could never do the same to her. In her mouth were pleasure and love and her lovely tongue peeking out between her teeth. In mine, was an affliction. Always, the fear that the only thing that separated her from the poison was a thin layer of skin and my own self restraint. I could bite down and forever she would hold some of my curse. My wound would be her wound.

I promised myself that I would always kiss her softly, and keep my cursed teeth to myself. I thought of the once handsome face of Bill Weasley, and his once untainted blood. How lucky he was, in the end, to never become that which he would always be haunted by.

I pulled my wife up to squeeze in my lap, her panting body writhing in pleasure, and vowed to keep her exactly as she was. Forever, she would be whole and free of my wolfish poison.

A life. We had made a life.

A baby.

My child and her child.

How could I have been so selfish? Even now, I will never forgive myself for risking it. What could have become. The curse which could have hung over the child as heavy and haunting as if the moon was tied to its tiny back. I could have doomed them to a life of misery and ridicule; of disgust and exile. We would have to run. But where would have us, when I was with them? A known werewolf. Who would help us hide?

She stood a better chance without me.

Without me, Dora could get help; find somewhere that accepted them. And I would return to my life as an outcast where I belonged. They stood a better chance, without me haunting them all of their lives.

To see the child grow, and see the blame in its eyes as it realised just whose fault it was that they were cursed by the moon.

I couldn't stand it.

Better without me. So much better. I didn't deserve them.

I would have to teach myself not to care, I realised. Life would pass and eventually it would be over. I would make myself useful to Harry. I could do that; I could fight. I wasn't good enough to live properly. To have a life with her and a family that held the evidence of my carelessness.

I was filth, and the sooner she realised it the better.

The morning I left, she woke up smiling happily, her hand covering her stomach; guarding the tiny life that grew there in the deepest part of her. She was life and a tree of blossom, and I was the branches bare of all leaves and haunted by the howl of the wind. Her smile faded as she saw me, cloak fastened and suitcase ready at my feet.

Never could I forgive myself for the look in her eyes as I left. They darkened; that light which I loved was nearly gone, and just for a moment I left myself believe that I was the reason it was there in the first place.

They would come back, I told myself, those sparkling eyes. Once she realised she was better without me.

I realise now that they didn't come back. Not until I did.

When I returned, she wouldn't forgive me. Not right away. I slept on her parents' sofa, and Ted's absence rang through the house like a scream.

I didn't sleep, in those first few nights. Just stared at the ceiling and waited for the time to pass so that she would forgive me. I could feel her presence upstairs; hear those delicate feet pacing the floor in her childhood bedroom, until one night she came down the stairs, stopping halfway, her stomach slightly rounded. I jumped up to meet her, pausing at the bottom of the stairs and waiting for her to say something.

She kept quiet, but held out her arms. And I fell into her, and we spent the rest of the night shushing each other as we fell into giddy hysterics and cursing Tonks' bed for creaking so much. Damp and sated, I crawled down over her to kiss the swell of her stomach, resting my ear over her navel and half believing that I could hear a tiny, human heart beating. She ran her hands through my hair and tried to catch her breath, her mousy brown hair plastered to the top of her head.

I kissed her mouth, and her arms and legs folded around me, keeping me there with all her strength and love.

Days would pass, our child would be born, and we would face whatever life threw at us together.

Months passed, and there he was; perfect and whole like her. His hair changed like a bloom of life and colour, and it delighted Dora to the point that her entire face seemed to glow. And I glowed; inside and out with the love that we had created. He wasn't like me; he wasn't a curse and it made me see just how human I was. I was an ordinary wizard, and my wife had given birth to the most beautiful creature in the world. I ached with happiness. We called him Ted, because we needed to fill a gap. I would catch Dora sometimes, weeping over her family albums and would have to carry her to bed.

We built our home; it was tiny but it was ours. It was free of bad memories; free of the ghost of Sirius or her father.

On that day; the last day...

It was nothing special. Nothing remarkable. We hadn't even made love that morning; we had simply curled together in silence and flannel pyjamas, both aware that a storm was approaching but neither of us willing to accept it.

When my body was struck down with that last curse, I saw her eyes. Those sparkling eyes looking back at me. I thought of my son, and what he would become. How I would never see him grow into a man. I hoped to god that Dora had survived.

I closed my eyes, and the world had done with me.

But she was there, somehow she was there and I knew that she had gone too. Someone had hit her, and I remembered my promise to keep her whole and felt a sense of failure. Together we left, and I realised that I had no regrets. None at all, because together we had made our lives lived.

That girl with pink hair, who filled up a room so effortlessly. Oh, she was so young.

But we lived. Together, we lived.

And together, we died.

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