That's Why...

She'd heard Muggles talk about "haunted houses" - places filled with strange noises, unidentifiable dark shadows shifting about in corners, clanking pipes and howling from the rooms above.

Tonks had lived in Wizarding homes all her life. (Well, that is, save for those two months somewhere between Hogwarts and Auror training, with Kristoff-the-dishy-guitarist in Berlin, though that had left her with not much other than the knowledge that not even the most gifted Metamorphmagus could remove at will a tattoo of a dragon from her left buttock.) In her twenty-four years of life, she'd seen plenty of ghosts with her own eyes. She had heard ghouls - and locked-up werewolves - baying in the attic. And since she'd come to stay most nights at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, she had found unpleasant surprises she would scarcely have been able to imagine even a year before.

The Black family home had far too many rooms for their limited forces to tackle in the span of one summer. As that first uneasy year of the war wore on, it had become something of an unofficial duty rotation to spend a bit of extra time as it came available to decontaminating the remote upper floors of Headquarters.

One evening in late June found Tonks rooting around in a cabinet in the sitting room of a guest suite upstairs. The dust was incredible, and she sneezed violently as she dragged a damp cloth across the paneling.

"Bless you," said a hoarse voice from the open doorway.

She jumped, and whacked her head against the drawer above.

"Damn!...Sorry. Wotcher, Remus," she muttered, a touch more mortified than usual at her clumsiness as she rubbed at the sore spot under her hair.

"My apologies. I hadn't intended to startle you. Are you all right?" He took a tentative step into the room, gingerly skirting piles of unidentifiable possessions littering the floor. (She'd been chucking everything out as she found it, intending to sort and organize and replace things after she'd finished her scrubbing...Or, should a welcome and well-timed crisis arise, to leave it for the next poor bastard who came in to straighten the room.)

"Fine." She figured he'd be on his way out in moments - he seemed to be doing something secretive for the Order lately, and these brief meetings did nothing more than leave her frustrated and unfulfilled - so she crawled back into the cabinet.

After a few moments, she heard a stifled cough. "Is that a tattoo?"

She reached behind her waist blindly with one hand to hitch up the top of her pants. "Trust me, don't ask."

"All right." He didn't seem to be in any rush to leave, and she'd never been accused of an inability to put off unpleasant tasks, especially when the alternative was so much more appealing. She crawled back out from the cabinet and chucked the filthy washrag across the room.

"So, what're you doing tonight?" she asked, brushing dust and spiderwebs from her hair as she settled, cross-legged, on the threadbare carpet.

"I rather thought I might assist you in the bedroom."

She felt her face crack into a crooked grin. "Really."

"Erm...I meant...the adjoining suite," he said hastily, flinging an arm to the door across the room.

"I'd certainly appreciate the help." Was he blushing?

Yes, that was a blush she saw on Remus' cheeks as he made a swift exit to the sleeping chambers next door.

Tonks sighed in resignation - that man couldn't see what was right before him even if it whacked him over the head with Harry's wicked Firebolt - and made to crawl back into the cabinet.

Within moments, she heard a stifled cry.

"Remus?"

She rushed across the room and tripped spectacularly over a tapestry-covered footstool. Once she stopped skidding across the floorboards, she chanced an upward glance - and was frozen in place, flat on the floor, propped up on her elbows with her eyes wide.

Remus had apparently decided to start in on the closet - Damn, she'd forgotten to tell him that she'd heard the doorknob rattling; this house had more boggarts than a wild kneazle had fleas.

She'd caught a glimpse of a shining orb as she raised her head, but Remus had already said, "Riddikulus!"

To her surprise, it appeared the charm hadn't been properly cast; it simply caused the boggart to change form.

What she saw briefly puzzled her...and yet, she quickly realized that it shouldn't have done.

She knew that face, the evil leering expression, and his modus operandi from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Top Twelve Most Wanted list.

Fenrir Greyback was advancing on Remus, whose face was a picture of terror - suddenly, Remus didn't look like a young man, old before his time; his expression was that of a small child, frightened beyond his wits. Still, Remus tried the charm again...His voice sounded so feeble...

Riddikulus...

...Greyback disappeared, and instead, a small figure lay prone on the dust-covered floorboards. Eyes closed, hair fine and mousy and limp across her face, a look of utter peace crossing her features, but unrecognizable below the neck - scratches, jagged bites, torn skin, blood everywhere - Holy Merlin...

Tonks stared in shock at her own mauled form, trying to tell herself it's not real - it's not real - obviously, it's not real as she hauled herself to her feet and raised her own wand in a shaking hand.

She advanced into the room until she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with a trembling Remus.

"Riddikulus!" she said in as strong a voice as she could muster.

The form on the floor turned to a somewhat-formless ambulatory heap of ragged cloth, looking almost like Sirius' robes, which he hadn't changed in a week. (Kingsley, at seven days, was now out of the running for the betting pool; Tonks was planning to ambush her cousin on the tenth day and force him into fresh clothing, as she could use the extra gold.)

It would be my dementor, but it's confused with the two of us here...It's nothing but a pile of tatty robes...I can handle this...

"Expecto patronum!" Tonks cried.

Her Patronus was weak and formless, but it forced the heap of rags slowly back into the wardrobe, soaring in a slow arc. As soon as it was inside, she slammed closed the doors and leaned against them, breathing heavily.

She met Remus' eyes.

He turned away, rubbing his fingertips across his eyes. "You shouldn't have had to see that," he said, his voice almost a growl.

"Well, I did." Tonks took a hesitant step forward and placed a hand on Remus' arm. "Are you all right?"

He ran his fingers down his face, stretching the skin taut, and didn't reply.

She tried to figure out something to say. After a few moments of silence, she blurted out, "Was it Greyback who bit you?"

Dammit, I should have said something about the weather...

Remus wrenched away and made his way across the room to a window. He stared out at the darkening sky, and still, he didn't say a word.

Tonks turned to go back to the sitting room, figuring it might be best to leave him in peace, but she hadn't even reached the doorframe when his voice froze her in place.

"Yes."

She whirled, but didn't approach him. When she finally spoke, her voice held what she realized was an uncharacteristic note of profound sadness. "That's what I figured. I knew you were young when you were bitten, and that sick bastard really seems to like kids."

He twitched. "I doubt he'll like me much as an adult."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked sharply, taking a step forward.

Remus' shoulders slumped. "Nothing."

"Remus?"

"It's nothing that concerns you," he snapped.

She recoiled at the bitterness in his tone, but plunged forward nonetheless. "Well, why're you so worried that he's going to rip me to bits, then?"

His head fell forward, and he thumped it against the panes once, twice. "I don't think Greyback's the one who did that to you," he said, so quietly that she barely heard his words.

"Well, who...Oh, Remus." She reached out and laid a hand against his back, just below a sharply jutting shoulder blade. "Surely you don't think you'd hurt me..."

"That's the thing," he murmured, "I might."

"No, you wouldn't," she said firmly.

"I'm a werewolf, Tonks. Surely you realize by now what that means." He was still speaking to the darkening night sky, but she knew he wasn't about to look her in the eye, not now.

"So what?"

"I'm dangerous."

"So am I. Ever try my cooking?"

She heard his teeth clench. "This isn't something to joke about."

"Oh, come on, Remus." She tugged at his sleeve. "Look at me."

He shook his head.

"I know you, Remus Lupin," she continued, relentlessly. "You're kind and gentle and clever and good, and I..."

She broke off abruptly. Wondering, not for the first time, whether she had any sort of filter between brain and vocal chords, she searched his face. His eyes were clenched shut; face screwed up in an expression of torment.

She stayed rooted to the floor just behind him, but took a deep breath and slipped her arms around his waist. As she did, his ratty jumper slipped up a fraction of an inch, and the crook of her elbow brushed against a jagged, gaping sore in his side. She drew her arm away a bit and peered at it - ah, so there's the bite - a cursed wound that would never fully heal.

"That's why." His voice sounded choked.

"I don't care." She tightened her embrace and rested her forehead against his back.

"I do," he said. "I care about you, and you deserve more than I could ever give you."

"I don't want more than what you can give me."

"You're young yet."

"Oh, no you don't," she snapped. "I'm a grown woman, and I know damned well what I want."

He laughed, once, bitterly. "Yes, and it's a life consisting of poverty and nursing an invalid, is it?"

"I told you, I don't care about that."

"You should." He finally turned to her. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you, you daft prat," she said, reaching up to touch his face. He closed his eyes and shook his head, once, firmly.

"No."

"No, you don't deserve happiness? Muggle Christ, Remus, of course you do."

"No, I mean that I'm well accustomed to a solitary life," he said. "But you deserve somebody your own age, who can care for you properly, who isn't scarred...and a potential deadly weapon."

She rolled her eyes. "Cleaned Beaky's room lately?"

He tried to pull out of her arms. "It has been a while. I'll go take care of that now."

"No, you prat," she snapped, tightening her grasp, "I'm just wondering how long it's been since you shoveled out that much utter shite."

A chuckle escaped his lips. Uncertainly, he reached out a hand and touched her hair.

That reminded her... "How'd you know what my hair looks like?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "Pardon me?"

"My hair," she said. "When it's not pink or purple or green or red or...plaid..."

He thought for a moment, then apparently remembered the boggart's form. Again, a blush began to rise over his face.

"The only time it's not morphed is when I'm asleep..." She trailed off. "Remus, you've been watching me sleep." It came out as an accusation.

"Not often," he protested.

She giggled. "I think that's sweet. You're just a big softie, aren't you."

"I prefer the term 'romantic'," he said archly.

She coiled her arms around his neck and pulled his face closer to hers. "Romantic, huh?"

His face showed that he was still battling between keeping himself away from her, and giving in to what both knew damn well was really there, as his lips came within a hair's breadth of touching hers...

...and footsteps pounded into the room.

Sirius stood in the doorway, fists clenched and face white.

"Sirius," began Remus, pulling away abruptly.

"Shut up and kiss her already, it's about bloody time, and then get your arse downstairs," Sirius said in a rush. "Mad-Eye and Kingsley are in the kitchen. Snape just sent word that Harry and five others have gone missing, and they may have headed to the Ministry."

Remus and Tonks gaped at him. "But why..." began Tonks. Her eyes widened. "Oh, no..."

"We have to go." Remus grabbed her hand and they raced down the stairs, meeting the others on their way out the front door.

As soon as they reached the unkempt square in front of Number Twelve, the five Order members looked at one another.

"Godspeed," Kingsley said. The others nodded, and with a deafening crack, all five Disapparated to the Ministry of Magic.

Six weeks later, the full moon had come and gone; afterwards, Remus had gone as well, to infiltrate Greyback's camp.

Tonks was wandering around the Black manor, feeling listless and alone. The house itself was a hive of activity, but she hadn't been feeling particularly social as of late.

It wasn't until she realized she had her forehead resting against a windowpane that she took full notice of her surroundings.

"Damn," she hissed.

She turned to exit the room - too many memories, Remus holding her just a foot from where she stood, Sirius framed in the doorway in his last hour of life - but she stopped when she heard the closet doorknob rattle.

Screw it, she thought. I'm in the mood to battle with a soul-sucking fiend.

She threw open the door, wand at the ready, and was quickly proven wrong.

A dementor swooped down, and in her mind she heard Bellatrix taunting her. Pathetic half-blood...weakling spawn of a blood-traitor...let's show my dear sister what it means to provoke the wrath of the Dark Lord's most devoted servant, shall we?...

"You're mad, Auntie Bella," she said through clenched teeth, "Barking...Expecto patronum!"

Her Patronus emerged, partially formed, from the tip of her wand. She did a double take - whatever in fresh Hades this was, she had no idea, but she knew damn well that her Patronus didn't have four legs. Maybe I've gone mad, too, she thought, and a weak burst of laughter rushed past her lips.

"Riddikulus!" she hastily cried, hoping it had been enough.

It hadn't been.

The boggart instantly fell to the floor and took the shape of a man with longish, gray-flecked hair, whose eyes were staring blankly at the ceiling. His body bore almost identical slashes to the ones she'd seen on her own boggart-self.

"NO!" she shrieked, her legs giving way.

Within moments, she heard someone came running.

"Oh, dear..." Molly Weasley's voice quavered, and Tonks heard Molly take a deep breath before saying, loudly and firmly, "Riddikulus!"

With a crack, the boggart changed into Arthur Weasley, clad in St. Mungo's-issue pyjamas and wrapped in bandages where the lacerations had crossed Remus' body moments before, looking up at them with a sheepish face.

Tonks could almost hear him saying, "Well...I don't suppose you know what stitches are? ..."

She gave a weak giggle, and beside her, Molly gave a great snort of laughter.

The boggart exploded into a mere wisp of smoke.

Tonks immediately hid her face and hoped Molly would think she was still laughing.

She'd have to get up earlier than that to fool Molly Weasley, it seemed.

"Come here, dear," Molly murmured, kneeling next to the younger witch and pulling Tonks' head to her shoulder. "It's all right...Just a stupid boggart..."

"It's not all right," Tonks sobbed. "He's on a suicide mission, for crying out loud."

"Tonks," Molly murmured, "We're all concerned for him. Remus is strong, though, and he's doing important work."

"He didn't say goodbye before he left," Tonks muttered, drying her face on the sleeve of her robe.

Molly sighed. "He stopped by the Burrow for dinner that Saturday, just as I'd told you. To be perfectly honest with you, I don't think he could bear it."

"What, dinner? You're an excellent cook," Tonks protested.

Molly quickly stifled her chuckle and sobered. "No. I think he knew he'd be gone for quite some time, and...I don't think he believes he'll come back the same man."

If he comes back at all, both women thought, though neither said it aloud.

"Remus also seems to think you might have more in common with Charlie. You're still in touch with him, aren't you?" Molly asked at length.

"Of course," Tonks said, biting her lip. "We were best mates at Hogwarts and all." And Charlie and I have more in common than you think, Mum - we both fancy blokes. She tried to come up with a way to defuse the situation. "I think Remus may be reading too much into that dragon tattoo on my bum."

Molly pursed her lips and shot Tonks a look of clear disapproval. Tonks turned to face the wall opposite and rolled her eyes. As though it was any of her business how Remus had come to see her bum, really.

"Thank you, Molly," Tonks murmured, wrenching her eyes from the peeling paint. "I appreciate the help with that boggart...and the advice."

"My pleasure, dear. I'm here if you need me." Molly actually patted her atop the head - dear Merlin, she really must think of me as a child - and Tonks stared blankly at the doorway for a long time after she'd gone.

...Shut up and kiss her already, it's about bloody time...

Oh, Sirius. A bright young man who'd been shattered by twelve years in Azkaban... What a horrible waste...

She pushed herself to her feet and went to the window. She looked past the reflection of her own drawn face and lank brown hair. The view of this run-down Muggle London neighborhood was relentlessly bleak, forbidding. The obscuring mist collected beneath the streetlamps, and she saw it for what it was, knowing it would only breed further despair. Not the most idyllic time and place for a declaration of love...

...Surely you realize by now what that means...

...You're young yet...

...You deserve to be happy...

...That's why...

...Not often...

...I prefer the term 'romantic'...

The rising sun stung her eyes, and still she couldn't figure out why the thoughts, "Damn you, Remus Lupin," and "I love you, Remus Lupin," seemed to be interchangeable in her mind.

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