She finds herself braced, ready for the argument that she’s had with his older counterpart too many times for her to count – truly only three, maybe four times, but sometimes the simplicity of the matter to her (“I like you, you like me, we’ll figure the details out together”) makes the argument to the contrary seem innumerous. But when Remus sinks into himself, Tonks then relaxes in contrast. She doesn’t have to be obtusely stubborn, though a certain (and large) degree of stubbornness is innate, and can listen instead of debate.
Contrary to what some people may think, Tonks is rather good at listening.
Her head tilts and she reaches out slowly, not touching him (even if she just wants to hug the shit of out him) but leaving her hand beside his, a reminder to them both that she’s right there, staying quiet as he talks. As he does, she takes the information given and allows it to paint a fuller picture of what she already knows of the man. Idly, she wonders if the strange magic of the bedknob gave her her friend as he is now because she needs the younger one to better understand the older one.
He's spoken about how his childhood was difficult, but not to this extent. Not in such a raw manner. And she watches as he pointedly looks away from her, from her hair specifically, the physical embodiment of colourfulness as he talks about his mother. Things begin to make more sense to Tonks than they ever had.
Not that it changes her mind in the slightest, but she understands more now. Why he fights back so much.
As Remus quiets down, Tonks smiles ruefully because her brain is jumping around in a million places. There are questions, myriad questions, she wants to ask and things she wants to say and she can’t figure out where to start. It’s all there, an open book of expressions on her face, and finally she presses her lips together for a moment before choosing a place to begin.
“To die will be an awfully big adventure.” She starts softly, hoping that he takes the quote from the boy who never grew up as the meaning that it’s intended. Death and dying are a part of life, Tonks knows that. She also knows that, like Peter Pan, the adventure to that juncture is the whole point of it all.
Tonks continues though. Because no, she does not and could not understand. Only in pieces, only in the fragments that her own unique nature – in its through-the-looking-glass version of lycanthropy -- allows her. But she wants to.
Their childhoods are, in that not-alike-but-somehow-not-dissimilar way, inversions of the other. He knows her now, Dora the child, as a five year old..and it's one of the last peaceful years for many people in the Wizarding World. It was definitely the last peaceful one she'd remember for a few years. But whereas the Lupins moved constantly, trying to survive by outrunning, the Tonkses survived the first war by closing up ranks, the house and small family of three only open to those closest. Those trusted. The fallen from grace sister of Voldemort's second-in-command made for a huge target, after all. So Dora's nursery school years were lonely as well.
But discussing that with this Remus breaks time travel rules. Instead, she brings up a different time in her life. “My boggart in school was a mirror with no reflection.”
“There are exactly two books in the entire Hogwarts library that even mention Metamorphmagi. We’re -- I’m -- not rather common, apparently.” She’s older now, and can take the hits from stuffy old books with a wry smile, which she flashes. “But those two books…weren’t the most flattering. They theorized that creatures who could take on the face of anyone have no real reflection. A mirror shows things at face value, yeah? Can’t show what you don’t have without taking from someone.”
Her fingers shift, idly tracing a line along the table. “Know who else doesn’t have a reflection? Vampires. Because they don’t have souls. So guess what else the books theorized?” She looks up at him, head tilted before she chuckles lightly. “I think Muggle literature treats us a bit more fairly than our own society.” Werewolves and shapeshifters don’t seem to get as much of the shaft.
“Now. Add the theory of having no soul to the worry of a teenaged girl about going batshit insane like Bellatrix Lestrange.” And why would plucky Tonks even think about that old hag? “That’s my mum’s sister.” And insanity runs in bloodlines, doesn’t it? “So I get being afraid of how big your emotions can be.” She still worries about it sometimes. Not often, but in the heat of the battle, anger in her veins, a curse on her lips. The ability to cast stronger curses just there, ready to use. Easy to take because Dark Magic isn’t really about evil or non-evil. It’s about power, and the easy, corruptible way to it. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment.
“I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” She realizes too late and smiles apologetically. “But…my point is..what if no one’s right? Or everybody’s right?” She moves again, turning her head to look Remus full on. “I don’t think you can live life and love people without hurting them. That’s part of being human.” And before he argues that point, she stares at him pointedly. “Your worry about the implications of you – both parts of you -- is decidedly human.”
Tonks ruffles her hair, grateful for the insight but still flustered at the impasses she comes across. “There’s a song..you won’t hear it for another handful of years..” But she sings a part of it softly.
To die by your side…well, the pleasure and the privilege is mine.
Tonks wants to give him cookies and hugs
Contrary to what some people may think, Tonks is rather good at listening.
Her head tilts and she reaches out slowly, not touching him (even if she just wants to hug the shit of out him) but leaving her hand beside his, a reminder to them both that she’s right there, staying quiet as he talks. As he does, she takes the information given and allows it to paint a fuller picture of what she already knows of the man. Idly, she wonders if the strange magic of the bedknob gave her her friend as he is now because she needs the younger one to better understand the older one.
He's spoken about how his childhood was difficult, but not to this extent. Not in such a raw manner. And she watches as he pointedly looks away from her, from her hair specifically, the physical embodiment of colourfulness as he talks about his mother. Things begin to make more sense to Tonks than they ever had.
Not that it changes her mind in the slightest, but she understands more now. Why he fights back so much.
As Remus quiets down, Tonks smiles ruefully because her brain is jumping around in a million places. There are questions, myriad questions, she wants to ask and things she wants to say and she can’t figure out where to start. It’s all there, an open book of expressions on her face, and finally she presses her lips together for a moment before choosing a place to begin.
“To die will be an awfully big adventure.” She starts softly, hoping that he takes the quote from the boy who never grew up as the meaning that it’s intended. Death and dying are a part of life, Tonks knows that. She also knows that, like Peter Pan, the adventure to that juncture is the whole point of it all.
Tonks continues though. Because no, she does not and could not understand. Only in pieces, only in the fragments that her own unique nature – in its through-the-looking-glass version of lycanthropy -- allows her. But she wants to.
Their childhoods are, in that not-alike-but-somehow-not-dissimilar way, inversions of the other. He knows her now, Dora the child, as a five year old..and it's one of the last peaceful years for many people in the Wizarding World. It was definitely the last peaceful one she'd remember for a few years. But whereas the Lupins moved constantly, trying to survive by outrunning, the Tonkses survived the first war by closing up ranks, the house and small family of three only open to those closest. Those trusted. The fallen from grace sister of Voldemort's second-in-command made for a huge target, after all. So Dora's nursery school years were lonely as well.
But discussing that with this Remus breaks time travel rules. Instead, she brings up a different time in her life. “My boggart in school was a mirror with no reflection.”
“There are exactly two books in the entire Hogwarts library that even mention Metamorphmagi. We’re -- I’m -- not rather common, apparently.” She’s older now, and can take the hits from stuffy old books with a wry smile, which she flashes. “But those two books…weren’t the most flattering. They theorized that creatures who could take on the face of anyone have no real reflection. A mirror shows things at face value, yeah? Can’t show what you don’t have without taking from someone.”
Her fingers shift, idly tracing a line along the table. “Know who else doesn’t have a reflection? Vampires. Because they don’t have souls. So guess what else the books theorized?” She looks up at him, head tilted before she chuckles lightly. “I think Muggle literature treats us a bit more fairly than our own society.” Werewolves and shapeshifters don’t seem to get as much of the shaft.
“Now. Add the theory of having no soul to the worry of a teenaged girl about going batshit insane like Bellatrix Lestrange.” And why would plucky Tonks even think about that old hag? “That’s my mum’s sister.” And insanity runs in bloodlines, doesn’t it? “So I get being afraid of how big your emotions can be.” She still worries about it sometimes. Not often, but in the heat of the battle, anger in her veins, a curse on her lips. The ability to cast stronger curses just there, ready to use. Easy to take because Dark Magic isn’t really about evil or non-evil. It’s about power, and the easy, corruptible way to it. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment.
“I’m rambling, I’m sorry.” She realizes too late and smiles apologetically. “But…my point is..what if no one’s right? Or everybody’s right?” She moves again, turning her head to look Remus full on. “I don’t think you can live life and love people without hurting them. That’s part of being human.” And before he argues that point, she stares at him pointedly. “Your worry about the implications of you – both parts of you -- is decidedly human.”
Tonks ruffles her hair, grateful for the insight but still flustered at the impasses she comes across. “There’s a song..you won’t hear it for another handful of years..” But she sings a part of it softly.
To die by your side…well, the pleasure and the privilege is mine.