This is for Katamabob, who was the winner of my Rival Ships Challenge on HPFC. The poor girl had to write a Remus/Bellatrix fic and pulled it off sensationally, probably much better than I've pulled off this Remus/Tonks one. I would highly recommend giving it a read on fanfiction at this extension (just paste this in after the '.net'): /s/6590446/1/Darkness.

Now, this fic is the third in a series of mine which say they're about a certiain couple, but don't appear to actually be about that couple until about the very end of the fic. It is pretty much a result of my new tendency to write 'family moments' or 'friendship moments', which I am increasingly finding much more interesting than my usual 'romantic moments'. But, I do promise that this has some juicy Remus/Tonks at the end, so it's something to look forward to!

Disclaimer: Wow. I haven't done one of these in ages! I keep forgetting... oops. Well, unfortunately, in the past few months, I still have no found the correct phrasing for the spell that will turn me into JK Rowling. I did have a good try the other day, but only managed to temporarily swap bodies with my dog, which wasn't actually very pleasant. But I'll do some more research, and if I do ever work out the wording and manage to tranform into JKR, I promise you, dear readers, will be the first to know.

For Katamabob (Kate),

because

(let's face it)

you're awesome!

The first thing Tonks noticed when she got home were the shoes.

For her whole life, her father's shoes had sat by the front door, kicked under the table on which he'd place his keys and jacket, balled up into a haphazard lump, which would inevitably unravel as Ted turned and continued down the hallway. Before turning into the kitchen, Ted would always hear the thump as his jacket fell to the floor, and with mock-rage he'd turn his eyes to his daughter and say, "Dora! Go pick up my jacket!"

The first thing Tonks noticed when she got home was that the shoes were gone.

As she walked along the hallway of her childhood – the one she'd taken her first steps in, shown her first sign of magic in, gotten her first carpet burn, first sprained ankle, first concussion (boy, was that a good story!) in – she realised something was different. The frames along the wall were straighter than usual. The umbrella stand was empty of loose change and crumpled paper. The lamps were turned on, throwing a harsh light onto the usually dim, comfortable space, igniting the corners and scaring the friendly shadows into hiding.

"Mum!"

Tonks' expression was concerned as she walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, knocking her temple on a framed photo of her family as she hurried past.

"Mum!" she called again, glancing around the empty kitchen, where a pot was boiling merrily on the stove, a ladle lying expectantly on the bench, two bowls eagerly awaiting use. All suddenly seeming strange and unfamiliar in its too neat, too tidy, too organised state. This was a kitchen used to mess.

Scanning the bench for any sign of something strange – a note perhaps, a discarded wand, even a stray hair, for Merlin's sake! – and noticing nothing amiss, Tonks left the eerie room. Her calls for her mother amplified as she entered the living room. Empty. Her footsteps quickened as she peeked into the bathroom. Empty. Her throat was sore from yelling, her breaths coming out fast and shallow, as she checked her parents' room, then, finding it deserted, her room.

"Oh, Mum, you scared me! Why didn't you answer-"

Andromeda Tonks was sitting on her daughter's old bed, the faded bedspread folded neatly at its base, a new set of sheets made up, and two plump pillows seated regally at the head, looking proudly out over their excessively neat domain. Not one item of clothing was on the floor, nor any pieces of paper or old toys. Tonks glanced over at her wardrobe, took in the sight of its closed doors – usually an impossible phenomena, due to it being stuffed to bursting point with piles books, clothes and an old broomstick and cauldron – and sighed, sinking to the bed next to her mother.

She looked down at her lap, awkward, as always, to be alone with her. "What wrong, Mum?"

Andromeda was silent, her eyes downcast, her hands resting on her knees, palms up, as if she was expecting another pair of hands to be grasping hers, waiting to feel the touch of someone else.

"C'mon, Mum, you've got to know that I know something's up. I mean, I haven't seen the house this neat since Grandma Teresa died!"

Grandma Teresa was Ted's mother, the only grandma Tonks had ever had, thanks to her mother's estrangement from her family when she began seeing Ted. Teresa had died a few years ago, back when Tonks was only just out of school and beginning her auror training at the Ministry. It was one of the first weeks Tonks had been living back at home after seven years at Hogwarts, and she had come home one night, exhausted, and staggered to her room, flopped on her bed, and immediately had to jump up again, realising with a start that her entire room had been tidied. It turned out that cleaning was Andromeda's way of dealing with loss.

Which only made Tonks wonder, what on earth could have led to the vast extent of cleaning that had happened tonight? Who could possibly have died to cause her mother this much...?

"Mum," the alarm had returned to Tonks' tone, and she looked up at her mother this time, willing her to look back. "Mum, what's happened to Dad?"

Andromeda was still silent, but tears had begun to pool in her eyes, and the fingers on one of her hands were curling, as if trying to grab hold of something before her, something so close and so real, yet something completely intangible. Eyes wide with horror as she watched her mother's hand writhe, Tonks grabbed it with both her hers, pulling to her face and holding it against her mouth as her breaths began to shudder once again, her lips trembling, her eyes burning.

"Mum!" Tonks called, "Tell me that Dad's okay! Tell me he's okay! Please, please, Mum – just say Dad's okay."

As Tonks' voice faded to a plead, she squeezed the hand she held with all her strength, trying to make it hurt, trying make it feel the way she was feeling. Because she didn't need to see her mother shake her head, to see the tears begin sliding down her face, catching in the laugh lines and pooling in the wrinkles, to know what was wrong. No one could cause this kind of pain to Andromeda Tonks, no one but Ted.

For minutes that stretched on for eternity, the two women sat on the small bed, each mourning so separately, so distantly from one another, the death of a husband, a father, a loved one. Then, eventually, Andromeda's shaking arm wound itself around her daughter's shaking shoulders, and their grief was combined, becoming fiercer, as the two allowed themselves to sob together, tears falling on each others' skin.

"I'm sorry," Tonks kept whispering, over and over again, choking out the words between sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I know," her mother replied. "I know you are."

Sometime later, when personal boundaries had been re-established and selfs had been pulled together, Andromeda stood, casting an affectionate look at her daughter, now lying down on her bed, the pillows nestled beneath her head.

"It's not your fault, Dora," she said, looking away before her daughter's eyes – so like her father's – could catch hers. "We were going to be in this war anyway, whether or not you were. Your father would have wanted it."

Tonks sighed, watching her mother's back as she opened the wardrobe, pulling a pair of socks from a shelf.

"You think?" she asked, unable to stop her mind stumbling forward into the realm of what if. What if I'd never joined the Order? What if I'd never married Remus? What if I'd never offered this house for Harry to come to? So many mistakes made in so short a life...

Her mother laughed, turning back to face her daughter with a frown as the question stayed hanging in the air. Tonks' expression was hard, her eyes wild with agony, her jaw clenched – clearly she was keeping the more painful questions to herself.

"Dora, look at me, please, and listen to what I'm telling you." Reluctantly, Tonks withdrew from her musings and met her mother's eyes, so stern and unyielding, so different from her father's always-kind gaze.

"Yes, Mum?"

"Your father's death is Not. Your. Fault. Don't you ever go telling yourself that it was. Your father died because of evil people with evil intentions. People who are cruel by nature, people who are twisted – mutilated – by their beliefs, people who from the very moment they can speak, talk about nothing but their own superiority, their own purity. The people who killed your father are the ones you're fighting, they're the reason why you and I and everyone else with a heart has joined this war. They are the people who should suffer, not us. They are the people who are to blame. Not you. Never you, Dora."

"But I let them live, Mum! I fought them at the Ministry two years ago and I couldn't stop them, couldn't beat them, couldn't kill them! I watched them kill Sirius and Alastor! I saw what they did to Bill Weasley, what they do to Molly Weasley, who has to watch her whole family face them head on! I have to see and feel what they still do to Remus, and now Dad, and no matter what I still can't stop them!"

Angry tears had sprung at Tonks' words, and as she screamed she also cried, a terrifying and pathetic sight for her mother, helpless, to behold, her hands fiddling incessantly with the socks she still held.

A few moments of silence reigned, an abrupt ending to the shouts that still rang in the room. Until-

"She's my aunt, Mum. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to feel? My aunt. Out there, the ones killing people, they're my cousins, my second-cousins, my half-great-step-once-removed-brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. They're family, too, Mum. The ones who are causing all of this. They're as related to me as Sirius was. How am I supposed to feel about that?"

Andromeda closed her eyes, trying to shut out the questions that taunted her in the dark hours of the night, wishing that her daughter could take them back, swallow them up, and leave the horrible truth invisible and hidden, where it belonged. The terrible fact that this war was not purebloods killing muggle-borns, whites killing blacks, bad killing good. This war was families destroying each other; Andromeda's own sister – the sister she had played Gobstones and Exploding Snap with, the one who'd taught her spells and helped her study Charms – had killed her nephew and tried to kill her daughter.

"I don't know," Andromeda admitted, taking her place again on the edge of Tonks' bed. "I didn't known how to feel about that during the last Wizarding War, and I still haven't figured it out for this one. All I know is that, as far as I care, the people who kill the people I love don't deserve my pity or regret."

Tonks didn't answer, but after a moment she settled back onto the pillows, the wildness gone from her eyes as she wistfully watched her mother fold and unfold the socks in her hands.

"I've never been able to make the socks fold," Tonks said suddenly, and when her mother glanced at her she was relieved to see a reluctant smile on her face. "It's sort of flick, isn't it?"

Placing the socks beside her on the bed, Andromeda drew her wand from her pocket and flicked it deftly at the socks, which obediently lifted themselves up, folded neatly together, and then landed back on the bed.

"You try," Andromeda offered, flicking her wand again to make the socks move apart.

A wry smile forming, Tonks sat up and, pulling her wand out, tried to copy her mother's wand motion. The socks paid no attention to her whatsoever, and remained motionless on the bed.

"Try again," her mother suggested. "And be a bit more confident with the wrist movement. You need to be sure of exactly what you want them to do, because if you don't really know, how on earth are they supposed to know?"

"Good point," Tonks muttered, before trying again, this time emphasising the wrist movement. Of course, this was entirely the wrong thing to do and the pair of socks, so overwhelmed by the order, hoisted themselves high into the air, performed a number of somersaults and similar acrobatics, before one of them went flying out the open window and the other, missing the window, his the wall, sliding down to hang on the edge of bookshelf, its toe waving lazily from the exercise.

Utterly shocked at her daughter's severe lack of ability to perform simple household spell, Andromeda snorted out a laugh, covering her mouth at the sound, but not before Tonks had heard it, and let out a similar snort.

"So you're the one I get the snorts from!" Tonks accused, waving her wand in mock-accusation at her mother. "I've always wondered who I should be blaming!"

The soup in the pot had almost boiled dry by the time Andromeda remembered it, and her and Tonks had hurried downstairs to rescue it and serve it up. Luckily, a little bit of water was added, and a quick hydration spell, and the dinner was restored to its former glory, ladled into the two bowls and very much enjoyed by the mother and daughter, slurping unreservedly from their spoons.

Not a moment after Tonks had dropped her spoon into her empty bowl, the sound of the doorbell came – a sound made not by the pressing of a button or the pulling of a string, but by the protection spells sensing a person's arrival – and they heard a voice outside, confirming its identity to the intruder charms. The person must have passed the test, because a moment later the front door was opened, and quick footsteps hurried along the hallway, turning into the kitchen where the two women now stood, wands drawn, pointed at the doorway.

"Remus!" Tonks cried in relief, throwing her wand to onto the table and running to her husband. The couple embraced, her head burying in his neck as he pulled her close, running his hand over her hair, her arms, her back, as if making sure she was still all there, unhurt.

Andromeda lowered her wand too, busying herself with picking up the bowls and carrying them over the sink. She cast a quick cleaning spell, the levitated the bowls back to their cupboard, which obediently opened as they approached and closed once they were settled inside. By the time all this had been done, the pair had broken apart, and Remus was leading Tonks back to the table where he made her sit back down in a chair and positioned himself behind it.

"I'm sorry," he said to Andromeda as she returned to her seat. "I came the moment I heard about Ted. He will be sorely missed by all members of the Order."

Always 'the Order', Andromeda inwardly scolded. He never talks about himself – what he wants, whether he misses anyone – it's only ever 'the Order'.

"Thank you," she said aloud. "It's means a lot to us that you came."

"It means everything," her daughter corrected, looking up at Remus, who managed a half-smile in response.

Andromeda frowned. It had been almost three months since her son-in-law had last set foot in this house. The last time, he had stormed out in a rage, after discovering Tonks' pregnancy, when he had sworn never to return, that he was a curse to this house and its inhabitants. And now, after three months of silence – three months of nothing at all – this. It was a true testament to Tonks' love for him that she could forgive him so quickly, so effortlessly. All he had to do was walk through that doorway, and it was as if no time had passed at all.

"Are you here to stay?" Andromeda asked bluntly.

Remus paused for a moment, his expression, invisible to Tonks, strained.

"I still think I was right in saying that I've done more harm than good to you and your family," he said, looking straight at Andromeda. "But an old friend reminded me, in a backwards sort of way, that a father should never, ever, abandon his family. And so, as long as I'm wanted here, I'll stay."

Tonks' eyes were glassy, the sense of relief and sheer adoration for the man she loved radiating from her. Andromeda, with nothing to say to this announcement, simply nodded.

"That's good to hear," she said and, with that, stood and exited the kitchen, waving her wand to extinguish the hallway lights as she headed towards her room.

The couple in the kitchen waited in silence for the sound of Andromeda's closing door, and as the resounding thud echoed through the house. Instantaneously, there was movement. Tonks leapt from her chair and threw herself at Remus, making him stumble back against the bench, his lips descending on hers and his arms clutching her closer with a desperation that only comes from three torturous months of separation.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her lips. "I'm sorry I left, I'm sorry I yelled, I'm sorry about your father-"

"Shhh," Tonks' coaxed, pressing her hand to his lips to stop the endless stream of apologies. "You're here now. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I missed you," he said against her hand, his eyes pits of emotion as they bore into hers. "And I love you. Much more than I should."

"I'm glad," she grinned. "And I love you, too."

She slid her hand down to his neck, pulling his head back down to hers so they could kiss again, the vicious passion making them pull each other impossibly closer, hold each other impossibly tighter, want each other impossibly more.

The short journey to Tonks' bedroom felt agonisingly far as they stumbled there, shutting the door behind them and falling onto her bed...

"Someone tidied in here," Remus observed, lying beside his wife, their legs tangled beneath the sheets.

Tonks laughed, pressing a kiss to his neck and pushing herself up to glance at the room. She noticed the sock, still dangling from the bookshelf and a thought occurred to her.

"When you were outside," she began, "did you happen to see a sock on the lawn?"

"A sock?" Remus asked, as if he needed clarification. "Why would I have found a sock outside?"

"Mum was trying to teach me that spell for folding them. See, she cleans when she's upset, so I was sort of, wondering if I should try it to."

"Cleaning when you're upset?"

"Cleaning at all."

Remus chuckled at that, brushing Tonks' fringe off her forehead and tracing his finger down her face, along her neck, over her collarbone, past her chest, letting to come to rest on her stomach.

"I went to see Harry," he admitted. "Asked if I could go with them, whatever they're doing. I could've been useful to them - helped to protect them, helped to teach them, helped them to survive."

"So why aren't you with them?"

"They told me to leave, to go back to you." Remus halted, wondering if he should go on, and then blurted out, "Harry called me a coward."

Tonks rolled over to meet her husband's eyes, disbelief etched in her expressed. "No!"

Remus nodded, sighing as he turned to look up at the dark room's ceiling. "He was right, I was a coward."

"Remus-" Tonks began to admonish, but he interupted her.

"James Potter died to protect his wife and son. Sirius died to protect his godson, and to protect you, his cousin. My two best friends were brave enough to protect the people that they love, but the moment I became too attached, started loving you and this life and our child too much, I ran. I was scared of it - you and our family and these feelings. The only reason why I left was because I thought the greatest danger I had to protect you from was myself."

"Well, you got that wrong, didn't you?" Tonks teased. "You know, there are worse things out there than a big bad werewolf. Especially one who isn't actually bad at all."

Remus shuddered at the mention of his disease, unable to shake the lingering fear of his child - Tonks' beautiful, innocent, amazing child - being born with his curse. Was the universe really so cruel that the only thing a man like him could give his child was that? Surely not. Surely the child would be fine, perfect, in fact. A perfect girl with her mother's eyes and her mother's smile.

"I hope our baby has your eyes," Tonks mumbled into the silence. "So you could look into them and see how I fell in love with them."

"No. I want us to have a little girl, just like you. Perfect, just like you."

Tonks sighed, trying to ignore the thrill that shot through at quiet words.

"As long as we have her together," she said. "Our baby can be anything you like, as long as you're here for the rest of our lives."

The room fell silent again, Remus turning back to face his wife, glad to fall asleep once again with the wonderful reality of her in his sight.

"I'm sorry I left," he whispered, his voice tender and full of remorse.

"But you came back," Tonks pointed out. "So consider it forgotten."

"Forgotten," Remus murmured, softly kissing her bright pink hair.

"Forgotten," she agreed.

Katambob (Kate), I hope that was good enough for you. For my second attempt at Remus/Tonks, I'm actually quite happy with it.

Also, in case anyone's wondering, I don't know why Tonks and Andromeda were sort of characterised as not beign very close. It just sort of seemed to work, so I went with it.

Now, I have a short rant to make, so just hurry on down to the 'review' button if you don't want to read it:

I have a lot of trouble writing Remus/Tonks (in case you can't tell!), but for many years they've been on my list of couples I would really love to write, and finally I attempted them a couple of weeks ago in 'Making Sense', which, lets face it, wasn't exactly brilliant. See, my issue with them is two-fold:
1. They're adults, which means they're not nearly as random and spontaneous as teens, who are easy to write because they get carried away really easily, having stuff like hormones to blame.
2. They're REMUS and TONKS. I mean, Remus is kind of like Harry's dad, or maybe like an uncle. That means writing a scene between them is like writing a scene about my parents, or maybe about my aunt or uncle. In other words, it's gross. (Ironically, writing Lily/James doesn't have this problem, because they're always just an elusive background love story, and never really 'parents', so they're not at all difficult or awkward for me to write.)

So, you ask, how did I get past these problems? Well, I sort of decided to pretend that this wasn't a scene between Remus and Tonks, and just let it be any two people, and let the hopeless romantic in me have some fun with cliches and all that jazz. I did this same trick with Rose and Scorpius in my last piece, 'Expecting the Unexpected', and that paid off, but I felt bad about it afterwards - I mean, turning off the characterisations in my head the second a romantic scene needs to be written isn't exactly the best way to write something, is it?

I guess what this rant is really about, is me wondering if you (as readers), prefer it when I turn off the characterisations and just let the romance go on, or if you also get annoyed when OOC-ness ruins romantic moments. I suppose it's not as much of a problem with Remus/Tonks (who I can stretch my imagination to comprehend them being a bit... um... spontaneous in their moments) as it is with Rose/Scorpius who, to me, are a hugely angsty couple, working against all odds and all instincts because of this completely irrational attraction between them that they both sort wish wasn't there. So, do any of you have that problem too? Or, better still, does anyone have a suggestion for me to work around it?

Anyway, rant over. Review away!