Heal

The wind blows down the deserted street. It's a harsh, cold wind; it tugs at the clothes of the old woman who hobbles down the street, and she draws her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The dark clouds float over the moon, obscuring it from view of anyone who might be looking up at it.

Like you. You glance up at it nervously, more out of habit than anything else, even if you know that you shouldn't be worrying about it. At least, not for now, not for another month. It's waning away now, sliver by sliver, but too soon, it'll be back, and you'll be walking along this street again, but in the opposite direction.

A slight drizzle begins to fall as you drag your feet along the road, little droplets that suddenly grow into larger raindrops, pelting down on you, hard and fast. Shielding your eyes, you hurry towards the rough row of houses on your left, stopping silently as you stare intently at the wall that separates two of them. To your left, number 11 is dark, the only light that can be seen filtering out through a chink in the curtains in an upstairs window. To your right, number 13, similarly dark but there aren't any lights on at all inside. Both buildings are hazy, their outlines blurred by the rain.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place stands in front of you, looming in the darkness where there hadn't been anything moments before.

Rushing up the stairs to the door of number 12, you pause on the doorstep, hunching your shoulders to try and stop the rain from tricking down your neck and into your robe as you fish about in your pocket for your wand. Slowly, you take down each of the wards and locks that have been placed over the door; it takes the better part of fifteen minutes until your wandtip finally glows blue, indicating that there are no more locks to open. By now, you're soaked and you push open the door eagerly, thankful to get out of the downpour, and step into the darkness.

At this time, everything is quiet. Dark and quiet. The only light that you can see is coming from the general direction of the kitchen, the light being just enough for you to be able to look where you're going, but not much more. You turn to close the door behind you, again putting up the numerous wards that you had just broken through, but it's even harder now because of the intense lack of light.

Once you're done, you tiptoe through the room, shivering, making your way towards the kitchen, towards the only light you can see. It beckons to you; it seems to promise warmth, something sadly lacking in the rest of the house. You slowly make your way towards the door in the dark, clutching your robe tightly around yourself and wondering who, of all the people in this place, would be insane enough to be awake at this hour.

However, when you reach the kitchen, you can't help but crack a smile.

'I should have known.'

Tonks is sitting at the table, leaning back in a chair with her feet up. You can see the dried mud on her dragonhide boots and specks of it in her hair, where the patches of brown blur into the black ponytail she's pulled it into. She holds a steaming mug in her left hand, her right resting on her lap and her eyes darting over the pages of some book that looks like it's going to fall apart. You recognize the old book as one of yours that she had borrowed a few weeks ago; you had forgotten that she had it until now.

'Wotcher, Remus,' she greets you as you stumble in, tearing her eyes away from the old book to raise a questioning eyebrow. You don't answer, merely nod to her before drawing out a chair next to her and collapsing into it with a groan of relief.

'Bleargh.'

'Rough night? Cor, you're a sight for sore eyes.'

'Mmm,' you reply, leaning back with your eyes closed. 'Rough wouldn't even begin to describe it.'

She laughs softly. 'Yeah. Everything's a bit… rough… now.'

You nod almost indiscernibly in assent. You feel so tired that you could actually fall asleep right where you are, slouched in a hard wooden chair with your head thrown back and the welcoming warmth of the kitchen rolling over you. Your muscles ache and the damp robe clings to you uncomfortably and even as you shift to try and get yourself into a more comfortable position, you wince.

It's only been a couple of days since the last full moon. Only a couple of days since your body was ripped apart. And, because of everything going on, it had proven near impossible to get the Wolfsbane potion in time. You vaguely remember barely getting out of this place and into the cage you built in an abandoned warehouse in time for the transformation. There are lacerations on your arms and body that burn every time your clothes chafe against the raw wounds, the rough, uncomfortable fabric sticking to your skin in the worst of the places. Add to that, you haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in about a month, never more than two hours at a time, always having to wake up to go do this duty and that duty…

You let a miserable smile come to your lips as you think, 'No wonder I feel like crap.'

Next to you, Tonks coughs, and you open one eye to gaze wearily at her. It startles you, though, when you realize that she's staring right back at you, and probably has been since you came in. Her book is closed, a finger marking the page she had been reading, and the mug rests on he table, steam still curling up from it, end her eyes are fixed on you in a glare of mild accusation.

'What?'

'Let me see.'

'Hmm? See what?' you mumble, knowing full well what she wants to see but pretending, as always, not to. You turn in your chair so that you can see her clearly, her eyes narrowing and the corner of her mouth upturned in a familiar half-smile.

It's your little… game, with you invariably losing out against your will, against her, no matter how stubborn you try to be.

'Remus, you didn't take the Wolfsbane this time, did you?'

You shake your head, pulling yourself upright in the chair. You run your finger along a couple of tale-telling scratches on your face before letting your hands fall into your lap, wondering what else she might have noticed.

'But there's nothing to see… really,' you add, glancing at her, unconsciously pulling at the sleeves of your robe. There's a scabbing cut right near your wrist and even as the cloth slides over it you feel the dull pain shooting through your hand, all the way from the cut to your shaking fingertips. You ignore it, instead curling your fingers around the ends of the fraying sleeves and trying to cross your arms over your chest in an effort to stop Tonks from seeing anything; failing because it's too painful to do so.

Tonks rolls her eyes, and then reaches over to you with her free hand. Her fingers close over the sleeve of your robe, gripping your wrist, and even if she doesn't hold it tightly, it hurts. She glances at you for a second, as if she were seeking permission.

'If there's nothing to see, then you wouldn't mind if I looked,' she says, and even if her tone is light-hearted, you can see the uncertainty flash through her eyes for a second. You nod slowly, giving in; even if you do mind you know that she'll have her way. Which isn't really a bad thing.

'Fine… but Tonks…'

Your voice trails off nervously as she begins the tedious process of uncovering the wounds. You bite down on your lip so that you don't yelp, your eyes fixed on the spot where, even now, her hand is sliding the sleeve back. You can tell that she's trying to be as gentle as possible but it's hard not to aggravate the numerous cuts and bruises that cover your arms, it's hard to find any patch of skin that has been left unscathed and you gasp as her hand accidentally brushes against one of the deeper cuts on your forearm.

'Nothing, eh?' she murmurs good-naturedly, dropping her book to the floor with a loud thump before reaching into her pocket for her wand. 'Blimey, Remus! It looks like you've tried to gnaw your arms off, and then you say it's nothing?'

'Really. Nothing,' you respond, because it really is nothing. Nothing you've never had before, that is… even though you have to ruefully admit that, if you weren't used to it all by now, you'd probably find the familiar pattern of abrasions over your skin positively gruesome.

It's a ritual that you've grown used to, watching as she heals your injuries with a simple flick of her wand, spells that you could just as easily do yourself but you let her take care of. A small comfort, even, to know that she'll attend to you unasked, whenever you need it.

She waves her wand over the cut near your wrist, and you're thankful for the usual blaze of healing energy that rushes through the wound before it closes up. She touches the spot where the cut had been, again glancing up at you.

'Still hurts?'

'A little sore,' you admit, 'but better. Much better,' you add hastily, seeing the frown on her face. Before you can think of anything else to say, she's already sliding your sleeves up further, muttering under her breath and healing the jagged cuts that run all the way up your arms. It's a slow procedure that you sit through patiently; skin cuts vanish easily but the deeper wounds remain, healing gradually under the bandages she wraps over them.

You try to keep your hands still as she dresses them but even in here, you're shivering. Your wet robe isn't helping you much and your fingernails are blue. She silently rubs your cold fingers between her palms to try and get some warmth back into them and critically eyes your robe, looking for all the world like wet sackcloth, and feeling just as uncomfortable.

'Why didn't you just cast Impervius on yourself or something?'

You shrug. 'Forgot, I guess. I was too busy trying to get here.'

'Well. It can't be very comfortable,' she mutters, and with another wave she dries your robe. The warmth seeps in through the cloth, travelling over your skin like a wave of gentle heat. You relish the feeling… after the cold and the damp you had trudged through, the heat is indeed wonderful.

Once your hands stop shaking, she presses a mug of tea on you. You sip from it as she seats herself on the floor to work on your legs. There are fewer wounds there, but they're much worse; you don't say anything but just sit in silence as you feel her rub a salve into a particularly nasty laceration on the back of your left calf. The cut burns for a few seconds, but then the pain dulls and is replaced by a numbness around the wound that you know will only go away once it's completely healed.

The tea leaves you wide awake; you suspect that she might have slipped something into it to help ease the aching in your muscles, and you hope, for your own sake, that it's just Firewhiskey or something equally harmless. Whatever it might be, you're not sure you want to ask, even if the idea of drinking something that you don't know all the ingredients of is a little frightening. Especially since it's been brewed by Tonks. You put the empty mug down on the table just as she rises from the floor and glances at you expectantly.

'Almost done there, Tonks?'

'Well… I could be done faster if you'd take off your robe,' she says slyly, shooting a smirk at you, and even though you've probably heard her say the same thing every time, you still feel the heat rising in your cheeks and your mouth going dry. You laugh nervously, even if it still hurts you to, and just shake your head.

'Darn,' Tonks exclaims in mock disappointment. 'And here I am, thinking that finally I'm going to get lucky tonight.'

'Not yet, you won't,' you chuckle softly. 'I'd think you had better taste than to leer at an old werewolf.'

'I happen to have great taste, thank you, Remus,' she retorts, but now she blushes, a brief flush over her skin, and you can't help but grinning when you hear her voice rising to a pitch a little higher than it would normally be.

'And that would be…'

'Oh, shut up!' she squeaks, and you allow yourself a small smile of victory. Most of the time, Tonks gets away with the teasing, mercilessly hounding you until you throw up your arms in frustration, but you know it's all in good fun.

There are few moments for laughter now; each smile is a victory in itself.

You stretch your arms above your head, trying to ease any traces of fatigue left in your muscles, but stop mid-stretch. The smile slips from your face. A sudden pain shoots over your back and you grimace. Immediately, you feel a hand on your shoulder and, out of habit, cover it with your own as you turn to look up at Tonks. The expression on her face is unreadable, but you can hear the ill-disguised concern in her words under the stern tone she suddenly adopts.

'Come on then, off with the robe. Let's have a look at those injuries.'

You hesitate for a second. You're suddenly conscious of every shift of material against your skin, every small movement that might cause pain. You can see the apprehension in Tonks's eyes at your reluctance to remove your clothes; as much as you might lie to yourself that it's your modesty that won't let you be, you don't believe it and neither does she. As you stand up, another sharp pain shoots through your side and this time you let out a gasp. The agony from the wound makes you bend over double, and you squeeze your eyes shut to try and ignore it, your hands shaking. Instinctively, you reach out, trying to hold onto something, anything. Your mind searches for something to focus on, something that'll allow you to drift slowly away from the discomfort, locking onto the gentle pressure of Tonks's hand on your shoulder.

Her presence speaks of comfort, of relief from all the aches that you hide away from everyone. It promises an alleviation of the pain that's become a part of you. It's a touch that's familiar and steady and even though her hand is trembling, to you it speaks of constancy, of something akin to the proverbial rock in the storm.

She could help… she always helps…

Even so, you're still not sure if you want her to see what you can end up doing to yourself every time you lose your mind.

'They're worse, aren't they?' she whispers, and you have to let yourself give in to that one bittersweet smile as you nod. You can't trust yourself to talk because there are things that you don't tell anyone, there are things that you've never told anyone.

There are things that you just can't talk about, because there aren't any words that could fit the situation.

Whatever was in the tea seems to have worn off because the pain returns with a vengeance. You fumble with the drawstring at your neck, shuddering, your fingers uselessly pulling at it until she brushes them away and undoes the tangled knots for you. You struggle to push the robe down, over your shoulders, carefully sliding your arms out of the sleeves with as little movement as possible. It hangs from your waist and you take a look down at yourself, at the dirty t-shirt you had pulled on to cover yourself after the transformation because you were too exhausted to look for anything else. The white material is almost completely hidden by dark patches of congealed blood, and even as you gingerly lift the hem, you cringe as a fresh burst of pain issues from a wound that has been opened anew.

'Sweet Merlin, Remus,' Tonks whispers, and you can actually see the pity and terror mingled in her eyes. The mug she had picked up crashes to the floor, shattering like any illusion that might have remained about the nature of your self-destruction. The sound is unbearably loud, but nothing can be louder than the silence that follows. It beats on your eardrums and doesn't give you anything to take your mind off the agony, off the vulnerability that you feel right now. It's like you've stripped away the defenses you've built over the years, layers and layers of excuses and lies that you told everyone falling from your body with the robe. No one knows what kind of torture the full moon brings; they've all speculated but even as you stand there, in the middle of the kitchen with Tonks looking at you with horror in her eyes, you know that no one really knows.

Every lie has just been laid bare, like your wounds.

Again, you look down, trying to peel away the material that's stuck itself to your skin with your blood. You can remember a time when this was normal, during the dark years when you would painstakingly try to clean yourself up in the basement under the house with a rag stuffed into your mouth so no one could hear you scream. Even now the urge to cry out is too much; you can hear your own ragged breaths, feel the scabs peeling away from the skin, feeling the skin itself being ripped apart again before it can heal…

Tonks catches your hands before you can go any further. Her breathing is just as erratic as yours is; hers from shock rather than pain. Her face is pale, her skin is cold and there is no trace of the familiar laughter you're used to seeing in her eyes. Even as you look at her, your vision begins to blur and you have to blink a few times to get it back into focus.

'How… Remus… you've never said…' she sputters, and you find yourself laughing weakly, despite the whole situation. Maybe it's from the relief that someone knows. Maybe it's just because the pain has addled your mind until you don't even know what you're doing. Maybe it's the fact that it just hurts less to laugh than to cry.

'There wasn't much to… say.'

She shakes her head, not looking at you. 'This... this is what you… the wolf…' her voice trails away, and she takes a deep breath before starting to speak again. 'This is what you do to yourself?'

You nod slowly, the same bittersweet smile as before crossing your lips as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her hands are shaking as she reaches for the hem of the t-shirt, but they stop there, barely gripping the bloodied material. You can sense that she's scared, scared of how bad it'll be under the shirt, scared of peeling it away and exposing the wounds, exposing the truth irrevocably.

Scared of hurting you any more than you already are.

You swallow as she takes a firmer hold of your shirt, tensing yourself, knowing what comes next. Still, nothing can prepare you for the explosion of agony when she starts pulling the material upwards. You haven't felt this kind of pain in years… then again, suddenly undergoing the full transformation after relying on the Wolfsbane potion for so long seems to have brought out a new level of ferocity in your lupine counterpart.

You feel as if a red hot poker is slowly being dragged along each tear in your skin, burning you at the seams, blistering pain that you should be used to by now but aren't. Your lip bleeds because you bit it too hard but even that isn't enough to distract you from the searing ache that ripples through your entire body. Every ounce of energy you have is concentrated on staying upright and not just collapsing to the floor.

You hiss in pain as Tonks tries to unstick the material from your chest. You can feel the dried blood being stripped away from the skin, almost as if someone was flaying you alive. More than once you reach out, clutching at Tonks, trying to prevent yourself from falling over. Your breath is ragged, shallow; your palms bear deep marks where your fingernails dig into them. The stench of blood is overwhelming and makes you want to retch, but even that brings on a fresh spasm of pain. Once the t-shirt is off, you can't bear to look down at yourself, gritting your teeth against the agony you feel but stubbornly refusing when Tonks tells you to sit down because as long as you're standing, you wont be tempted to just give into the pain.

The healing process is even worse. Basic healing is something that Tonks was taught in Auror training, but you can see the doubt etched on her face when confronted with the severity of scratches and bites you've inflicted on yourself.

'Remus, do you want me to call-'

'No!' you interrupt, a little louder than necessary, or wise, another wave of pain threatening to make you topple to the floor. 'No… it's fine… just do what you have to,' you croak in a feeble explanation, although the truth is that you don't want to appear weak, even in this state.

You don't want anyone else to know about this if you can help it.

The salve stings horribly the moment it makes contact with your mangled skin. Tonks is quiet as she massages it over your back, her hands moving as lightly as she can allow them to. Near your shoulders, you feel her fingers tracing over bruises and you whimper because it feels as they're being burned open from the inside.

You know that she's heard you because she withdraws her hand immediately.

It takes an age for each wound to be treated; your torso is swathed in salve and dressings because most of the cuts run deep. Even in the gaps between the dressings where your skin can be seen, it is covered in an ugly map of bruises, darkened flesh marking the spots where it feels as if your nerves have been trampled on by a herd of hippogriffs. An angry gash runs down your right side; the edges are scabbed but the rest of it is a glaring wound that makes you cringe every time you move. You hold your breath as Tonks probes the deep cut, muttering spells to clean it of the shredded skin that hangs from it as well as dirt that must have gotten into it as you slept on the floor of your cage. Only when you feel the bandage being pulled over it, wrapped around your torso, and the pain is reduced to nothing more than a tingling do you allow yourself to breathe again, albeit in small gasps so as not to aggravate anything. Most of the pain is fading as the wounds close in on themselves under the dressings; even if it seems to take the longest time you can't help but feel a rush of gratitude when Tonks casts a numbing spell on each and every cut as she heals it. If nothing, it gives you a temporary respite from the discomfort.

'I think that's the last one,' she says softly, fastening the dressing. As she reaches for the now near-empty jar of balm, she pauses for a moment to look up at you, an odd glittering in her eyes. She turns away before you can question her about it, fumbling around on the floor as she picks up small bits of dressings.

When she raises her hands to her face in a gesture that suspiciously looks like she's wiping at her eyes you start.

'Tonks?'

She refuses to turn and look at you. Suddenly, she seems to find the floor particularly interesting… even after she's cleaned up the floor and banished the rubbish to a bin in the corner, she doesn't take her eyes off it. You can see her pausing before she bends down to pick up your bloodstained t-shirt. Her hands shake violently, and you find yourself swallowing as she slowly raises her eyes to meet yours.

'I guess you won't be needing this now,' she comments, but even after you nod, she makes no motion to throw it away. She twists the material between her hands, balls it up, opens it out again. And again. She sighs, little lines appearing on her forehead as if she's thinking deeply about something as she stares at the shirt in her hands.

But unlike before, you don't sense any fear coming from her part. Or pity. It's more like an acceptance, of you, of everything. She slides her hands over the material, picking off little flakes of dried blood at places, and you wonder what she's thinking, what she's trying to feel. Eventually, though, she wads it up into a ball and tosses it in the general direction of the bin.

And misses.

She laughs slightly. It sounds forced, and you can hear her muttering about not even being able to aim straight as she banishes it. It hits the wall above the bin before falling in.

Again, she laughs, this time turning to face you. It's laughter that's odd and dry and so out of place in the situation at hand that you wonder why she's laughing.

'What's so funny?'

'Well,' she says, drawing out the word as she glances at you again, 'it just came to me that Molly would probably have a fit if she walked in here right now. Cor, can you imagine what she'd think?'

The corner of your mouth twitches in a smile. You can see the return of a little of the devious twinkle in her eyes that you've grown accustomed to, and a welcome warmth travels over you. 'Only Tonks can come up with something like that at the oddest time,' you think.

'I'm sure she'd probably be scandalized,' you remark dryly, trying to hide the mirth in your voice.

'Although, come to think of it, she'd probably understand why I'm… leering? Was that the word you used?' she says, this time a genuine chuckle escaping her lips as she winks at you.

You can't help but laughing, even if the heat of a familiar blush creeps across your face.

'Why, Remus, I do believe you're blushing!' she smirks, bending to pick up the salve, but not before you've seen the little crimson streak that spreads across the bridge of her nose and into her cheeks. She makes towards the table as if to put down the jar, but stumbles in the process.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab one of her arms from behind. She teeters for a moment, trying to regain her balance with her other arm waving madly in the air as she uses your weight to keep herself from falling. You laugh sincerely, and she turns to face you, her face even redder than before, an embarrassed smile lighting up her features. She feebly tries to pull her wrist from your grip, but despite her tugging, you don't let go, but instead draw her towards you.

You can feel your face heating up even more as she looks at you quizzically, her head tilted to one side. Her hand slips from your grasp, and you tense, waiting for her to move away, to bolt, to do anything. When she doesn't, you take a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling for a second before looking back at her. You knew what you were going to say, you knew until two moments ago what you wanted to tell her, but now everything slips from your mind. A trace of the smirk remains on her lips.

'Remus, are you going to just stand there gawking or actually say something?'

Now you grin.

'Well, I thought I'd thank you… Nymphadora…'

She's still holding the jar of salve in one hand, but the other comes up to rest against the side of your face, and you can feel the contrast between her skin and yours, cold and warm, and again, you're not sure what you had really meant to say. Her fingers play idly with the small strands of hair that hang over the side of your face. Her lips are slightly parted and when she breathes, you take in the breath, she's that close to you. Her eyes are perfectly serious, even if there's a nervous smile on her face. At one point, you surprise yourself by bringing your arms up to rest around her waist, pushing away all thoughts of pain, pushing away the niggling voice that reminds you that the only thing you're wearing is a robe hanging from your waist, pushing away everything else. It's not important now; nothing matters except the feeling of her fingers in your hair and her breath on your lips in a touchless kiss.

'Remus,' she whispers, 'If you call me bloody Nymphadora one more time, I'll hex you into next week!'

'Nymphadora,' you breathe, letting the corners of your mouth turn upwards arrogantly, 'Nymphadora, Nymphadora, Nymphadora.'

'I'm serious, Remus, I will!'

'Nympha-'

The name is cut off as she leans forward to close the gap between you, pressing her lips to yours in a quick kiss. It isn't one of those overdrawn kisses between lovers; she only lingers for a moment before she pulls away from you, a wry grin on her face and crimson rising in her cheeks. Even if you had anticipated it, the kiss leaves you with a surprised smile dancing over your lips and you're sure she's noticed this.

'It was the only way to shut you up,' Tonks lies feebly as she shifts from one foot to another. Now you bring your hand up to rest against her cheek, brushing away the tendrils that have loosened themselves from her ponytail, mirroring her stance.

'We werewolves don't take kindly to being made to shut up,' you growl playfully, leaning in and resting your forehead against hers.

'Well, learn to, then,' she whispers against your lips, before kissing you again. It's not the nervous brushing of lips of before, but a more confident, reckless kiss with you pulling her closer and her hands sliding around your neck. She drops the jar she's holding and it crashes loudly to the floor behind you, but you couldn't care less, because now her fingers are tangled in your hair, playing with the little strands that curl at the nape of your neck. You let your eyes flutter shut. This time, you only break the kiss for a second; just long enough for you take another breath before you lower your head again.

When her hands wander over a bruise on your back, you gasp into her mouth. She makes as if to pull away, but you don't let her, instead holding her closer, crushing her lips with a ferocity that makes the both of you lightheaded. Her murmured 'Sorry,' is completely lost between you.

Finally, you break apart from her, but only enough to breathe. You smile, feeling her quick breaths tickle your lips, her arms around your neck and your hands on her shoulders. She reaches up to brush away the hair from your forehead, and you nuzzle your face into her palm as she strokes your cheek.

'Sweet Merlin, Remus,' she whispers, but this time, she's smiling, and her eyes are oddly alight. You grin at her breathlessly, then lean in to lightly kiss the tip of her nose before drawing back.

'Willing to reconsider your taste in men, Nymphadora?' you tease.

She stares back at you. 'Don't force me to take drastic measures!'

'Darn. And I thought I was finally going to get lucky-'

'Ooh, you're incorrigible!' she says, swatting at you playfully before laying her head on your shoulder. You can feel her sigh as she shifts against you, arms resting against your chest and her hair against your skin. She stiffens a bit when you wrap your arms around her before settling back again.

'I'm not hurting you, am I?'

'No…'

'Liar.'

'Okay, yes… I mean, not really…'

'Idiot,' she murmurs against your pulse before she untangles herself from you. She's slow in her movements, most probably so that she doesn't end up elbowing you in the stomach by accident. She reaches up to plant a quick kiss on your cheek, nothing more than a simple brush of lips against skin, at the same time drawing your robes up around you. It's much easier to slide your arms through the sleeves now, much easier to just move without having to stop because of the pain. As she busies herself with your robe, you content yourself with just looking at her.

'Get to bed, Remus.'

'But-'

She smiles tiredly. 'Come on. You need to rest. You're not going to heal those injuries by jumping around with me at insane hours of the night.'

You open your mouth to protest, but she puts a finger to your lips. Her other hand slips into yours, squeezing your fingers gently, and there's a soft look in her eyes that you've only just seen, a look that mirrors the rising feeling in your heart as she leads you slowly out of the kitchen and up the stairs. It's not strong, it's not an emotion that crackles in the space between the two of you, but it's there. It's a feeling that you've not felt for a long time, something you had written off completely due to your very nature. It's a feeling that reminds you of gentle fingers and worried eyes and wounds that need to be healed, and of having someone there who cares enough to put you back together, again and again.

And even as you stumble over an uneven floorboard and feel Tonks catching onto you so that you don't fall to the floor, you're sure that, for the first time in years…

You finally feel complete.

*

fin

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