Words You Can't Take Back (As They're Written in Permanent Ink)

**********

Chapitre le premiere: Muggle Things and How (Not) to Use Them

It started innocently enough.

Arthur Weasley had been given a clean bill of health by the Healers at St. Mungo's, but he was still confined to a sofa in the parlor at Grimmauld Place, being fed enormous portions of each meal from a tray and tucked in warm blankets, at the insistence of his wife. It was obvious to anyone who saw the two of them together that Molly loved her husband, and Arthur loved his wife, but dear Merlin...it was equally obvious that Arthur was bored out of his mind.

He waved down Tonks one morning in early January when she passed. "Tonks!" he hissed, beckoning her into the room.

"Wotcher, Arthur! How are you this fine day?" she asked, a tad too brightly.

He rolled his eyes. "I'd be a lot better if I could get off this sofa, dear, thank you for asking. D'you think you could nip out for a bit, find me something to do?"

Tonks nodded. "Certainly, mate. Anything in particular you'd like?"

Arthur's eyes lit up in almost-manic glee. "Something Muggle. I had some fuse wire and screwdrivers from Harry's Christmas gift, but I've somehow managed to make a horrible muddle of it all. Would you mind dropping by a Muggle market and finding something to keep my hands busy? I'm going mad, just sitting here."

Tonks had taken to her errand with enthusiasm. By lunchtime, she returned to Order headquarters bearing a large bag filled to the brim with goodies, wearing an expression on her heart-shaped face akin to Father Christmas.

"Here you are!" she chirped, dumping the contents at the foot of the couch.

Arthur and Tonks sorted through the pile of Muggle goods. "Oh! Eklectrical tape! I didn't realize eklectrickery could be patched up to handily. And what's this? Oh, Tonks, you shouldn't have! Will it really stay up?"

"Mate, it's a model airplane kit. It won't really fly."

"Shame, that," Arthur said dejectedly. "That's one of the great mysteries of the universe, that is, how those things stay in the air."

"Here, Arthur," Tonks hastily said, catching the disappointed air with which Arthur was regarding pile of parts he'd shaken out in his haste to discover the inner workings of his very own airplane. "I know you've wanted one of these for ages."

Arthur's face broke into a grin. "That's one of those rubber ducks! But what does it do?"

Tonks squeezed its middle - squeak, squeak.

"Don't squeeze so hard - There's a mouse trapped in there!" Arthur grabbed for the duck, alarmed, and looked over the duckie. "There's just this little hole in the bottom, though. How'd the mouse fit in there?"

"Dunno, mate," Tonks answered, biting her lip to keep from laughing. "There's a book of muggle word games - easier than the Wizarding ones, you know, the clues stay put and the letters in the word searches don't squeal and hide from the tip of your quill. Oh, you'll like this, it goes with the book."

Arthur regarded the ballpoint pen. "A muggle quill! Brilliant!" He proceeded to click-click-click-click the top for several minutes running, until he'd cracked the tube inside; ink spattered all over his pajamas.

"Don't worry, I got more. These are mechanical pencils - kind of like lighter, erasable ink, they are - you can push the top on these, too, but you'll want to click just a bit at a time or we'll have lead everywhere."

Arthur settled down with his word searches and his pencils, scratching away at the clues with abandon, using up a fair amount of graphite, and looking thoroughly dispirited each time he'd brought forth enough lead to continue his game.

Tonks rooted through the pile by Arthur's perch and found something that caught her fancy. "Say, Arthur, mind if I use this?" she asked, holding up something long and cylindrical.

"Of course! But what could it be?" Arthur peered inquisitively at the object she'd chosen.

"It's a laundry marker...Another kind of muggle quill. It sort of has ink and a permanent sticking charm combined."

Arthur shook his head. "What those muggles won't think of next..."

Tonks grinned and threw herself into a wingback chair by the fire. She regarded her shoes - canvas high-tops in a shocking shade of green; she'd morphed her hair to match - and uncapped the pen.

Before long, her shoes were graced with a very artistic rendition of a Hebridian Black stretching across her toes, and a carefully-drawn replica of the Hogwarts castle turrets curled around an ankle.

Remus Lupin strolled in, a cup of tea and a book in hand.

"Wotcher, Remus! Want to sign my shoes?" Tonks called.

Remus regarded her now-covered-in-ink shoes. "Since you've already done plenty of damage to a perfectly good pair of shoes, I suppose a bit more can't hurt," he said, giving the high-tops a somewhat bemused once-over. "I think I'll stick with the castle side, though. That dragon looks quite fierce. I wouldn't want to risk you putting an Animation Charm on your shoes and losing a finger."

"I wouldn't do that!" she protested, eyes wide in a doe-like, innocent expression, and batting her lashes, she handed him the marker.

Carefully, only the tip of one finger holding her toe still as he held the very edge of the marker to her shoe, he wrote in precise script: "Hello, Nymphadora - RJL".

"Remus!" she snapped, snatching back the pen.

Remus chuckled and settled into a chair in a secluded corner of the room to read.

Tonks regarded her shoes. Really, this was quite fun. She'd have to see what else she could do with her new toy.

In the meantime, she thought, heaving her feet onto an ottoman and wiggling into a more comfortable pose, a little nap by the fire would be very nice...

She awoke some hours later to see Remus having drifted off in his own chair, book splayed across his chest, and Arthur looking at her with a very amused expression.

"So, Tonks," he whispered, "Might there be young love budding in this gloomy old house?"

"Hunh?" she asked, still sleepy and a bit confused.

With a tilt of his chin, Arthur indicated the soles of her high-tops. Tonks crossed her leg at the knee and grabbed the side of her foot, staring at the bottom of her right shoe.

There, on the bottom, in permanent marker and large enough to cover most of the sole, was a heart, with the initials written inside in a very distinctive, messy hand: N.T. + R.J.L.

Tonks shrieked and leapt from her chair.

"SIRIUS!" she screamed, tearing from the room in search of her soon-to-be-hexed right bastard of a cousin.

**********

Chapitre le Deuxieme: They're on a Mission from God, and/or Dumbledore

The laundry marker served many purposes over the coming months. First, it had colored the soles of both green high-top shoes solid black (but not until Sirius had had his hands magically fused together behind his back for half the day; Tonks had only relented and lifted the jinx after Sirius had apologized profusely, as well as informing her that he had to use the loo and unless she was in the mood for Aiming Duty, she'd better release him from punishment, immediately).

It was used for Order shopping lists, quickly-jotted notes for reports to Dumbledore, and as a makeshift replacement for nametags when Molly had had to send half a dozen spare pairs of knickers to Ginny by Express Owl ("Mummy, the elastic on my last decent pair gave out in the middle of Care of Magical Creatures, I've never been so mortified in my life").

Sirius, on the other hand, had gotten hold of the marker one day and spent an afternoon re-writing the family tree. After his editing job, he was immortalized as having married Celestina Warbeck and sired fifteen children, each of whose names began with the letter 'Q'. Then, he'd gone downstairs to draw a gag across his mother's portrait's mouth. The peace and quiet that resulted was a welcome change. He'd also re-labeled the contents of the liquor cabinet and performed a flavor-changing charm on every bottle, so that when Minerva McGonagall had poured herself a tumbler of gillywater during an Order meeting, she'd left several hours later pissed out of her mind on Ogden's Old Firewhiskey.

Tonks, when she could get hold of her pen, continued to draw on various articles of clothing. Most of her shoes were now more art than attire; her T-shirts bore slogans, many of which bordered on the socially inacceptable (her favorite one to wear to work under her Auror's robes read, in enormous letters across her chest, "SOD OFF, UMBRIDGE, YOU GREAT TOAD"). She'd also drawn on a pair of very saucy knickers she'd found at a Muggle department store, but she was waiting until she got up enough courage to actually wear them. She had a plan for those.

After the battle at the Department of Mysteries, she grew a bit more subdued in her efforts in the indelible written word. Once she was out of St. Mungo's, she wore the few articles of clothing that she had not yet marked; she just wasn't in that sort of mood.

The laundry marker made a reappearance on the way home from King's Cross Station on the last day of June. She and Remus had just finished giving their little warning to the Dursleys, and were heading to a pub. She'd offered to take him out for a drink, and though he'd tried to politely decline, she had insisted that he needed it, which he couldn't, in all fairness, deny.

On their way down the street, a man brandished a Bible in their faces and began a rant about the evils of the world, about the corruption of the morals of youth and their modern music (looking pointedly at Tonks' pink hair and belly-bearing shirt), and how even the most poverty-stricken and downtrodden of souls could be saved by the grace of the Lord (eyeing Remus' tattered old clothing and shaggy greying hair). Tonks had stared straight ahead, dragging Remus by the sleeve of his shabby overcoat in hopes of quickening his sedate pace, but the man had reached out and grabbed Remus by the arm. Tonks, a bit jumpy since the battle, had hexed the prosthelytizer in less than a blink of an eye.

Standing over the man's Stunned form, she had a flash of inspiration. Fishing the marker out of her pocket, she quickly penned a note on the man's pants leg:

Dear Friend: Please take this as a sign, directly from the Source itself. I command unto thee to serve my cause by volunteering your time in Hell's Soup Kitchen (address is in the directory, tell them I sent thee). Go forth and do my work. Yours Almightily, God

Remus was torn between disapproval and hysterical mirth. They walked a few paces away before Tonks cast an awakening spell over her shoulder, and left their well-intentioned assailant to his new mission in life.

Their drink proved quite enjoyable, and even in the chaos that was the Order's relocation to a muggle boardinghouse in Leeds until such time as Grimmauld Place's rightful ownership could be confirmed, Remus and Tonks continued to find solace - and even joy - in each other's company. Most nights found one in the other's shabby rented room, sharing bars of Honeyduke's chocolate, talking and laughing until the wee hours of morning.

Within the span less than two short weeks, the fragile bond and unstated attraction between the two reached a breaking point.

One night, Remus was packing a very small suitcase when Tonks came in, bearing tea and chocolate. She came to a dead halt in the doorway and stared.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, eyeing the case.

Remus didn't even turn around. Head bowed, he said quietly, "Dumbledore's asked me to go on a mission."

"Well, at least you won't be gone long," Tonks said, plunking herself down on the edge of the bed and indicating the very small piece of luggage beside her.

"I may be gone a very long time," Remus answered, still not meeting her eyes. "It's just that I have to pack lightly by necessity."

Remus told her then - he was going to infiltrate the encampment of werewolves, led by Fenrir Greyback, and try to turn the population toward the side of the Light.

Tonks was aghast. This was a dangerous mission, possibly even deadly...She couldn't bear the thought of Remus being thrust into this situation.

She'd tried to keep from crying. Her efforts had been in vain. Sitting on the bed, she'd wept bitterly and furiously as Remus took her gently into his arms.

The rest of a night was a blur in her memory. She knew she'd confessed that she loved him, she didn't want him to put himself in harm's way, she wanted him here with her, damn it; she loved him...

He had sounded as though he was forcing out the words as he told her, over and over, that she could not be in love with him - he was too poor, too old, too dangerous. He couldn't answer at all when she demanded that he look her in the eye and tell her that he didn't love her as well. I may be an penniless middle-aged man who turns into a bloodthirsty beast every twenty-eight days, he thought, but I will not make myself a liar as well.

Tonks had run from the room and down a rarely-used rickety staircase, feeling wretched, just before daybreak. She'd sat on the rusty old iron fence that ran along the boardinghouse property and stared at the sky, feeling a hopelessness that the dawning of a new day couldn't help.

She spent the day avoiding Remus, volunteering to do the last shift of what the Order had dubbed 'Potter Patrol'. Tonks sat under the invisibility cloak behind a bush at Number Four, Privet Drive, staring at the house but barely seeing it through the silent tears coursing down her face.

They had moved back into Grimmauld Place the next afternoon, but Remus had remained behind at the boardinghouse, making contact with the werewolves and preparing to depart for a mission that would, without doubt, be long, dismal, and very painful. The night before he left, he and Mad-Eye went to the Weasleys' for a delicious and filling meal. It would have to last a long while.

Remus stole into Grimmauld Place after midnight, hoping none of the other inhabitants would be awake. He'd brought his valise, packed with the only things Dumbledore had authorized him to take: two warm blankets, a single change of clothing, one set of robes, and his coat. I am very sorry, Remus, the Headmaster said, looking his former student and longtime friend in the eye, but amongst the pack, presenting a feral image - unwashed bodies, unclean clothing - is a sign of status. I know this will be a difficult journey for you, and I cannot express enough my gratitude that you are willing to undertake it for the sake of the Order; indeed, for the Wizarding community as a whole. Good luck...

Trying his best to be optimistic - at least I can go without shaving for a while, and the rest of my robes won't be any more frayed by the time I return - he crept up the stairs and into his bedroom.

He slept the sound sleep of the truly weary, and he didn't even stir when a pair of small feet snuck into his room, rifled through his suitcase, and shortly replaced their contents...having made one small but highly noticeable change.

**********

Chapitre le Troisieme: Jingle Bells, Moony Smells...

A week later, Remus couldn't stand it any longer. He truly needed a long, hot bath, a shave (never mind the hassle of a daily battle with a razor; the beard was itchy), a toothbrush, a peppermint, for Merlin's sake - anything to make the filth disappear.

He figured he'd have to settle for a clean shirt, and count his blessings that even that miniscule luxury was available.

He waited until the rest of the pack was asleep. Day would be breaking soon; the other werewolves were creatures of the night, even when the moon was at its least full. He reached within his pile of blankets and rustled as quietly as possible through his case.

Grabbing his fresh shirt, he prayed he'd be able to escape soon, even for a day, to clean his body and clothing, never mind if the other werewolves thought him a slave to the ideals of wizards. I am a wizard, he thought bitterly, then scolded himself. Many wizards would disagree; by the letter of the law, werewolves were denied many of the rights given to full-blooded humans. He wasn't doing this for fun, after all; there was a war going on, a community to save, and he was here amongst the wolves because it was a job for which he was uniquely suited.

Remus whipped off his foul shirt and went to pull the other over his head when something in the greying light of dawn caught his eye.

There was something written on his shirt.

Tonks...Oh, Nymphadora...

No, he said to himself severely; I cannot afford to allow myself to so much as think about her. Nothing can ever come of it...It's not right...It's not safe...

He held the shirt up and squinted, trying to read what had been printed in gigantic block letters, taking up the entire front.

He finally broke through the dim light and deciphered what she'd written:

I GAVE MY HEART TO REMUS LUPIN AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT

He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, so he buried his face in his blankets and did both.

Well, he couldn't change into this, he supposed after a while. Thank you ever so much, Nymphadora. Then, he mused with a smile, even if she could get within arm's reach of me now, she'd run, screaming, upwind.

Remus sighed in resignation and turned his shirt inside-out, shoving it under the wadded-up manky old blanket that served as his makeshift pillow. Hopefully, he could keep it hidden from the others.

As he slept, though, his heart got the better of his mind. No matter that he'd tried to hide the shirt away from the others, it seemed he couldn't hide it from himself; he found himself clutching the shirt close to his chest like a lifeline when he woke the next day, and every day of his mission thereafter.

The days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Remus went to the Burrow for Christmas, and though Molly seemed ready to beat him round the ears with her saucepan when he insisted he could not go to see Tonks, he knew it was for the best. Maybe not for him - he felt as though a part of his soul had been ripped away, but he figured he was used to loving and losing and once more would not break him - but he knew for certain that it had to best for her. Tonks was young and whole; she deserved someone who was as well.

He'd run into her, anyway, that night at Grimmauld Place, and the scene that followed simply reinforced his conviction that he needed to distance himself from her. He couldn't bear to see her so unhappy, but he was going away again the next morning, and surely she would come to her senses, and realize that he simply was not right for her, that she deserved so much better...given time, she would understand that he would only hurt her. Remus was also certain that, if he stayed even another day, he would find himself sweeping her into his arms, and then he would never be able to leave her. He had a mission to complete, and that began and ended with the fact that he was a werewolf. Poor, unemployable, and old before his time.

Remus did his duty to the best of his ability. There was only so much he could do with a number of disenchanted, impoverished souls living outside of normal society, harboring a terrible curse which some of them were only too happy to share. However, he had promised Dumbledore that he would stay with the pack, and stay he would, for as long as he was needed there.

**********

Chapitre le Quatrieme: On A Hot Summer's Night...

Then, one night, his mission came to an abrupt end.

Remus was sitting alone outside, gazing at the stars and basking in the crescent moon's faint glow. Suddenly, a four-legged beast came bursting through the clearing. He thought for one wild moment that one of the pack had managed to transform outside of the full moon, but this enormous creature was without substance, a brightly-shining apparation made of vapor and lightness and hope. Holy Merlin, he thought, what the...

The silvery Patronus bounded up to Remus and sat back on its haunches. It regarded him with baleful eyes as Tonks' voice filled his ears.

Come to Hogwarts as fast as you can. We need you here.

As the wolf began to lose form, he heard her voice once more, just a wisp of pleading through a choked sob: Please, oh, please, Remus, hurry...

Remus bolted inside, gathered up his things, and noticed with a thrill of horror that Greyback appeared to have gone missing.

He knew Greyback had been in contact with the Death Eaters; he'd sent his Patronus with a message under cover of daylight to Dumbledore about it hours before.

Come to Hogwarts...Please, Remus, hurry...

He sprinted back to the clearing, adding his own pleas to those of Tonks' still ringing in his head: Please, please, this cannot means what I think it means...Albus, Minerva, Harry...the children...oh, Nymphadora, please, Nymphadora...Be safe...

He Disapparated and re-appeared just outside of the Hogwarts gates. He was able to get through the wards surrounding the school borders by sending a Patronus of his own; his silvery goose soared through the Hogwarts entrance, and the barrier went down long enough for Remus to vault the chained gates and run up the winding path.

Just as he reached the front doors, a blinding flash of green light seared his eyes. As his vision cleared, he saw it, shining over the highest tower: The Dark Mark.

I'm too late...I cannot, I will not be too late...Please, let me not be too late, please...

Continuing his silent entreaty to the fates, Remus hastened to throw open the doors and fairly flew up the staircases and to the Astronomy wing.

He ran headlong into a battle that would change his life forever.

**********

Chapitre le Cinqieme: Watch Your Back

Dumbledore was gone. That morning's funeral had finally driven it home. He'd sat hand-in-hand with Tonks, marveling at how she could manage to make bearable what was probably one of the saddest occasions of his pain-filled life. Once the body was gone, his beloved teacher and cherished friend's spirit set free, he finally allowed the tears to fall. Gratitude flowed through him, both toward the nobility and love he'd known from Dumbledore, and also for this woman sitting by his side. He and Tonks had walked down the path to the gates, fingers still firmly intertwined, and Disapparated together to Grimmauld Place.

Their task, after the battle, had been a thankless and labour-intensive one: With the help of Alastor Moody, they had placed as many enchantments around the property as they could imagine, hoping to negate the effect of the Order's Secret-Keeper's death. Moody was paranoid as ever, but in this case, all involved were grateful for it, even if it had meant two days' hard work for Remus and Tonks. The spellwork had been complex and required a great deal of concentration. This was a blessing, in that they did not have time to dwell on their grief for Dumbledore and anger toward Snape, and a curse, since they were so exhausted after their efforts that they could barely stay upright, let alone enjoy each other's company, once the day's work was done.

Now, though, even Moody was convinced that Grimmauld Place was as safe as it could be until they had a new Secret-Keeper ready to undergo the Fidelius charm. Remus was going to work with McGonagall to choose the new guardian for the Order's location. They were planning to approach Ronald Weasley; since Number Twelve was technically his best mate's home, he was a logical choice. The main reason, though, that Remus and his former colleage were considering Ron was his determination to protect those he loved; it was without a doubt strong enough for the young man to be trusted to hold the information.

Order headquarters was silent as Remus and Tonks made their way inside. Sirius' makeshift solution to his mother's incessant screaming had held, a fact for which Remus was more appreciative than ever, since Tonks had complained of a pounding headache.

"It's stress, you know," she said through gritted teeth and bleary eyes. "The only thing that helps is to lie down. Would you mind terribly if I just headed up to my room for some sleep?"

Remus didn't mind at all; in fact, he thought he would've minded more if she stayed awake for whatever reason while she was feeling miserable. He helped Tonks up the stairs and helped her to shrug out of her heavy dress robes. As he hung them in the wardrobe, she climbed into the four-poster in her long undershirt and stockings and buried her head under a pillow. She was asleep within minutes.

He headed back downstairs to the kitchen. Coming back into Wizarding society from the werewolf encampment still felt strange and wonderful. In a way, he was almost thankful that he'd come straight into a firefight when he finally returned; at least everyone else was grimy and sweaty once they convened in the Hospital Wing, and his own state of grooming (which he'd upgraded in his mind by that point from Odor to Stench) hadn't been so noticeable.

Several long baths, a very good shave, and the bliss of the prospect of clean underpants each day later, Remus felt like a new man. Of course, this new relationship to which he'd devoted his heart was helping him to heal, inside and out. A part of him still felt that Tonks did indeed deserve someone who was better able to provide her with safety and security...

She loved him, though, in spite of his faults. Indeed, she loved the faults, too (though she'd already said she would rather avoid him in the event of a full transformation at the full moon, which he could certainly understand). And he loved her. Of this, he was certain.

The house was silent; it had been a long day, and since Tonks would most likely sleep for a while, he decided to sit down for a quick cup of tea. He reached up into the cabinet and had to search for a bit before he found his favorite teacup at the back, buried behind a stack of mismatched china.

Remus filled his cup, then did a double-take. What was this?

The cup bore the marks of a permanent-ink pen.

He snorted with laughter as he read the inscription: This cup belongs to Remus (the daft prat)

Well, I earned that, I suppose, he thought as he sipped his tea.

He looked at his cup again. His eyes narrowed. His mouth quirked. His entire face shifted into a sly expression that would only be recognizable to three other people (all of whom were now dead and/or gone).

He set down his tea and crept silently up the stairs.

He had an idea...

Tonks finally woke up late that evening, fully rejuvenated. She turned on the light and stretched, then padded over to her wardrobe, ready to put on the comfortable clothes she'd laid out, intending to change once she was back from the funeral.

She undressed, reached for the pile of clothing, and shook out the shirt.

"What the bloody hell?..." she trailed off, staring at its front.

On its front had been drawn a large rendition of a teacup, emblazoned with the words, "I AM A DAFT PRAT. FORGIVE ME?".

"Remus," she breathed, throwing the shirt aside and reaching for the rest of her things.

She burst into laughter when she picked up her underclothes. Her bra had also fallen victim to the pen.

"DEAR NYMPHADORA: I LOVE MY JOB. SINCERELY, YOUR BRASSIERE"

She was laughing too hard to breathe properly, and she had to sit down on her chair when she saw her knickers.

"YES, I AM LOOKING AT YOUR BUM"

She gasped and tried to catch her breath. "Oh, Merlin, no - He can NOT know about that!" she wheezed, horrified, remembering the debacle of her naughty and far-too-verbose pants ending up in the busted-up Fountain of Magical Bretheren...And, worse, in an evidence bag in the Auror department. Thankfully, Kingsley had been the only one who'd realized to whom the knickers belonged, and he'd kept his mouth shut, if only when threatened with a mass attack by clumsiness on his personal belongings.

Her mortification at the thought of her secret being discovered subsided when she examined her jeans.

They were her favorite pair - or, at least, they used to be before they had been covered in Remus' neat printing. They hung low on her hips, and he'd pointed out the previous spring (with a blush) that she was in danger of showing more than she might like.

"In other words, dear cousin, we can see your arse-crack," Sirius said, smirking.

Now, her baggy trousers made a statement all their own. There was an arrow pointing to the spot where the inseam joined the waistband in back, and along the seat of her jeans was written:

"THREE-TIME WINNER OF THE WITCH WEEKLY MOST CHARMING (VERTICAL) SMILE AWARD"

Tonks had fallen off the chair, tears of laughter streaming down her face. "Oh, great Godric's gallbladder, I can't breathe," she gasped. Sirius had told her stories about the Marauders and their various pranks, but she'd never believed Remus - or rather, Moony - to be capable of such silliness. Who'd've thought that the old chap still had it in him?

Tonks finally collected herself enough to put on her clothing, figuring Remus would at least like to see his creation. She found him sitting in the chair in his room, apparently engrossed in a very large book. He glanced up when she stood in the doorway and struck a pose (whacking her wrist on the doorknob in the process).

"It suits you," he said, a bit of a smirk crossing his face. Then, he set his book on the floor and spread his arms wide.

Tonks froze. He was wearing the shirt she'd nicked from his suitcase, then returned once it had been "improved".

Slowly, Remus rose to his feet, and he turned on the spot so she could see the back.

"MY DARLING NYMPHADORA: I COULDN'T SLEEP AT ALL WHILE I WAS AWAY UNLESS I HELD THIS SHIRT IN MY ARMS EACH NIGHT"

She clutched at the doorframe.

"Have you looked more closely?" Remus asked, grabbing the bottom hem of the shirt and pulling it taut.

Tonks squinted, and then she saw it. Written across the edge were the words, in tiny letters:

"care to join us?"

She rushed into his arms and held onto him with all her might.

"Once I heard you in your room, I took the liberty of drawing you a bath," he said, pulling away. "I thought you could use a nice, warm soak in the tub, after the week you've had, my sweet Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that," she grumbled halfheartedly.

"Go on, into the tub with you, it'll get cold," Remus said, steering her out the door, and added under his breath with a ghost of a chuckle, "Nymphadora."

She tried to scowl, but it wasn't working. She was faced with a steaming tub filled to the brim with scented bubbles. Who could resist?

Tonks settled into the tub and lay back, feeling her muscles relax. This was surely heaven.

Her toe nudged against something that was hidden amongst the bubbles. She sat up and groped around until her fingers closed against something small, pliable, and buoyant.

She started to giggle. She'd found Arthur's rubber duck! She gave it a squeeze. "Squeak, squeak," she answered it, dunking it under the water and bringing it back to the surface.

The bubbles cleared away under her hand, and she noticed something. Someone (and she had a very shrewd idea who) had used an indelible marker to write something on the duck's back.

She read it aloud, puzzled but still giggling:

"'SURPRISE'?"

"Yes. Surprise," a hoarse voice answered as the curtain pulled back.

She stopped giggling at once.

THE END *

* (Those two words were written in with the laundry pen - We'll give 'em a bit of privacy, shall we? It's crowded enough in that tub with the two of them, plus the duck.)