Disclaimer: BARNACLES! It's not mine, it's hers (points in the general direction of Scotland) Okay? NOT MINE! HERS! Thank you. I'm going to go cry in my room now, wishing Harry Potter was mine.

A/N: The awaited sequel to A Charm For Nymphadora. Hope you like it: )

Perfection

"Would you tell me I was wrong?
Would you help me understand?
Are you looking down upon me?
Are you proud of who I am?
There's nothing I want to do
To have just one more chance
To look into your eyes and see you looking back."
—Christina Aguilera, Hurt—

"Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away."
—Antoine de Saint-Exupery—

"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."
—Bertrand Russell—

oOoOoOo

Tonks could see him, standing silently with an elderly woman who was standing there very stiffly, and a softly crying Dedalus Diggle. Poor, sensitive Dedalus. Dumbledore had been his hero. He'd been everyone's hero. Hell, he'd been her hero, next to a certain gloomy werewolf, a scruffy-haired teen, both eating away at her heart but by little bit, and her mum and dad, who she had seen somewhere in the distant crowd and avoided purposely, not wanting to get all emotional. Her mum had loved Dumbledore; he had been the one to convince her to follow her heart where it concerned her dad, and as she always said 'Look how my life's turned out? Perfect, beautifully perfect! And he's the one to thank!' Dumbledore had always made everyone smile in just a small way, and the twinkle in his blue eyes had never dulled. He had been the only person she permitted to call her Nymphadora, not even her mother had that privilege anymore. He'd been the glue that held the dratted Order together. Without him, they would crumble…unless a worthy successor would take his place. And right about now she didn't even know if the only one worthy to do that was ready to face the 'better' part of his grief. She felt so bad for Harry, knowing that right about now, he had gone through the trials of grief more than he deserved. More than the people who had died deserved, she thought, thinking about how every single one of them could have lived and everything might be different for that boy, who watched the world through haunted, glittering green eyes, still full of awe at the world, even through all that he had seen, yet offset by shadows of the things he had seen, the age he had gained with experience.

She'd come to the deduction that Harry Potter was possibly the most special boy she had ever come to meet. She wished, wistfully, that Dumbledore had decided in one of his barmy, top of the head decisions to place him with her family, to be raised by her mum and dad. They would have been quite able, and happy, to have Harry in their home, not because he was the boy-who-lived, but because they had known how much he needed a home and love. And she would have adored having a little brother to love and to pick on and to protect. Sighing, she remembered Dumbledore's many said phrase, "It does not do to dwell upon dreams and forget to live."

Well, her main dream was dwelled upon a lot, thanks! She thought to herself, looking back at the man who was consoling Dedalus. A sweep of light brown hair, threaded with more silver than the last time she had seen him. It just made him look even more daunting, she thought, smiling in his direction despite the feeling of ache and despair that raged in her heart. A thin, but handsome face, with lines crinkling at his eyes and scars here and there that you would have to look for to find. A straight nose, firm lips that for too often never saw a smile, lovingly golden eyes, mysterious and dashing eyes that she loved to stare into, only wishing he would stare back. As always, he looked sickly and exhausted. There was a hint of bags beneath his eyes, and his skin was grayer than usual. His robes, those awful tatty things that she wished was not the only thing he could afford, not because she didn't want to be with someone who didn't have fashion, but because she knew he was sensitive about his status in the wizarding world and the clothes were like a big huge sign that read 'CONTAGIOUS DISEASE, NEED EMPLOYMENT' in huge red letters. If it was up to her he would be doing anything and everything he wanted and have been paid to the full extent that he deserved—which was quite a lot considering how hard working and determined he was when given a chance.

He stood as he usually did, unconfident and weary like, his back not straight but not enough to be called slouching, his head bowed as he talked to the shorter man, who still had tears silently streaming down his face. The elderly woman, she realized and recognized as Augusta Longbottom, said a few words, stiffly patted Dedalus Diggle on the back and headed over to where Neville, the slightly awkward boy who she'd come to think was just adorably cute in his own geeky way, and talk with him, taking him by the shoulder and nearly dragging him up towards the stairs that led to the second floor. She almost thought he was going to go with her then stopped, slipped out of her grasp. Very firmly, she read his lips and saw him say 'No, Gran', there was a small argument, then Augusta crushed her grandson to her tightly, patted his head and said something that made the young man blush and straighten proudly. She smiled knowing she'd probably said something like 'just like your father!' It seemed that everyone in the wizarding world expected sons to imitate their fathers. Death Eaters were normally based on whether they would be good or bad by the status of their father. She had come to see the devastation on Harry's face whenever someone slipped and told him 'you look so much like your father!' Remus had explained why, telling her that he had somehow gotten into Snape's pensieve and seen a rather arrogant and intimidating teenage James Potter, so unlike the James that everyone had come to know and love, the funny, laughing, brave until the end James, and ever since then his image, although Sirius and him had tried to reassure him his father had changed, had been distorted.

She sighed; the wizarding world had always been terribly flawed. 'Like a cracked glass ready to shatter with a single tap of a fingernail' Was as her father had explained it to her. As a muggleborn, he had often compared their world with the Muggle world, and found severe flaws in both. The Muggle World relied too much on the future, the Wizarding World too much on the past. No present in between, he had often told her when she was younger. Philosopher extraordinaire, she had replied to him in her teen years, with a Mr. Hyde second personality as a right old slob-monster!

To that her father had blushed and told her, All great minds are messy, dear.

"I must be a freaking genius, then, Da, coz my flat is in a right ugly state at the moment." She muttered to herself. Thankfully, she was unheard by nearby wizards and witches, who were shamelessly chattering about this and that. They stood bunched up in the Great and Entrance Halls, food and drink scattered everywhere. She wore a simple black dress, no extra adorning at all, just a slip of a black dress, flat black shoes, boring stud earrings and her charm-bracelet—the one that Remus had given to her for her birthday—carefully tucked into a ridiculously small purse for safe keeping. Normally she kept it tucked in her pocket, which was of course, impurvious'd so it wouldn't fall out of course, but she had no pocket to spare.

She was on duty, she Proudfoot, Savage, dumbass Dawlish, as she liked to call him, and any other auror attending the funeral, just in case Death Eaters tried to pull something, though she rather hoped the centaurs would shoot them all in the heads for them, which was highly unlikely. But she had been ordered to keep her eyes open for suspicious characters and the like, and to "watch the Potter boy as well".She had wanted to tell the minister where he could put that last demand, but had decided against it if she wished to keep her job.

Her thoughts strayed back to her flat. It was…trashed to say the least. When she did have time off from her station at Hogwarts, she was there, locking herself away and drowning her sorrows in loud, ear blasting music, watching sappy Muggle soap operas and stupid, if terribly hilarious game shows that couldn't even get her laughing, buckets, and buckets, and buckets of ice cream, the chocolate Remus had given her after Sirius's death, to help her when she had been hurting about it, and crying her head off until her eyes were swollen and she couldn't see anymore. As she promised her dear Rem, no drink was drunk, unless it was water or lemonade or the occasional case of highly caffeinated soda.

She should be really fat right now. But her metamorphmagus powers ate up all the fat and calories and she stayed rail thin. Whoopee for her. She would feel better if she was fat. Then she'd had a real, not pitiful reason to feel sorry for herself, and to stop all this dumb nonsense. But she wasn't and she just felt really stupid at the moment.

Her hair, today, was light brown, with hints of darker and lighter highlights. Her face was her original visage, pale and heart-shaped. Her eyes were her original color, dark and twinkling, thought the twinkling was dulled now. It didn't feel right to be in a twinkling eye club when she was the only one left now. It had been her little joke between the headmaster and her.

"Ah, another twinkler!" Were the very first words he'd said to her, nearly startling her in the hyperventilating in her first year on a trip to the library with dozens of books her mum had sent her. She had been a book fiend, but not school text books, like Hermione, but every kind of book imaginable. Romance, Mystery, Suspense, Futuristic, Sci-Fi, Horror, any kind she could think of, she would read it. She still did. There were stacks of them hidden in her closet, where no one could ever find them. Hopefully.

She had right about fainted when he had spoken to her, but ever since then she'd gotten a wink or a smile or the offer of a lemon drop, a candy she absolutely gobbled down when she was younger. It hadn't been her defense professor, who had only known her for that school year, (no one could keep that job could they?), to give her a recommendation for the auror academy, nor her head of house. Flitwick had thought she would better do with something that involved sitting down, and didn't think she, his worst Ravenclaw seventh year, at the time, could get there, even if she had passed all the right classes. It had been Dumbledore who had actually put in the recommendation 'the twinkle in her eye should tell you how dedicated she is to helping people,' as an after note. She had found it barmy and irrelevant, but of course, that was what she was all about, wasn't it?

A week later, she was accepted into the Auror Academy. She had just about died of joy and shock and just plain giddiness. It had been the best day of her life, almost.

That title had been kicked to second the moment she'd met Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. She'd been walking out of her parents' house, after a meeting with them for a quick cup of tea, when out of no where the two men had appeared behind her. Reflexes trained and just fresh out of the Auror Academy, she had spun around and tackled the closest one to her. When she had seen his face she had bellowed, squeezing her arms around his neck, nearly intent on ripping his head off, and screamed that if he thought she was letting him go and not taking him to the ministry, then he'd better think again.

"OH JESUS DORA I'M BLOODY INNOCENT!" He had cried, gasping for breath. That's what her mum had always preached, she thought, and had immediately freed him, throwing herself into a hug.

"Mum had been right." (She always was bloody right, thought Tonks annoyingly.)

She'd turned and there, standing beside him, had been a tall, lean man, not thin but not muscular well, muscular in a subtle way, who had looked like he could use a good hug himself. He had looked weary and exhausted and sick and tired and she'd just wanted to bury her face in his soft-looking brown hair, flecked with handsome silver, despite the fact that he was Sirius's age and hug him until he couldn't breathe. He'd looked like a lost puppy as he watched her, curious and interested. No way had a man ever looked at her like that when she was in her regular form, the form she used whenever she was visiting her parents. It had surprised her, and intrigued her and she had known just as she had known what her name (although she tried to deny that it was what it was) was, that this was an honest, kind, gentle, chivalrous man. The one she read about in story books. The man, who was haunted by an inner evil, yet was so purely good it could never take him over. He had tilted a smile at her, a weak, tired smile, and nodded his head, extending a hand, "Remus Lupin."

She searched her mind and remembered reading an article in the Daily Prophet, one of those trying to defile Dumbledore's good name, where it stated that he had hired Remus Lupin, werewolf, as a Defense Professor. Like the dope she was, as she was shaking her hand, she told him such. He had winced, terribly and yanked back his hand.

"I…Well, I won't deny it…" He had mumbled. Sirius was off twirling Andromeda around, singing about how great it was to be free. Almost.

"I'm not saying that you have to!" She had giggled, "I really don't care! It's not like you can control, it wasn't even your fault. And you obviously never hurt one of the students or you would have been booted right from the start!"

"Er, no…" And he'd smiled a genuine smile that had fluttered something in her belly into life.

It hadn't been that hard to fall in love with Remus John Lupin.

Nope, not hard at all.

Painful, yes, hard, no.

"Dumb, idiotic prat thinks he's the essence of all that is unworthy. Well, I'll decide whose bloody unworthy!"

"Talking to yourself, Tonks?" It was the hoarse whisper of the man she was just talking and thinking about.

"Well, my, my, speak of the devil himself!" She rounded on him, taking the carelessly held glass from someone beside her. Relying on instincts and a fierce anger that had been building up over the weeks at the sheer will and stubbornness of the man she loved, she splashed a full glass of water in his face, "Don't eavesdrop on me talking to myself Remus when you won't even look at me properly anymore!" She screamed at him, shoving through the crowd and stomping off towards the grounds, huffing about insufferable men who needed to get smacked instead of just drenched in drink.

Remus stood there, mouth gaping, as she sauntered off, storming out onto the Hogwarts grounds. People were staring at him, and he felt his face burn. He had never been very good at being the center of attention, especially with this amount of people. He cleared his throat, apologizing for Tonks to the woman whose drink she had stolen. The lady just sniffed at him, turning away. He sighed. He saw a glimmer of red and suddenly, Mrs. Weasley was by his side.

"Remus, go after her." She told him, her voice firm and motherly. She waved her wand and the water disappeared.

"Molly, it's obvious she's mad at me." Remus told her, grudgingly. She had been interfering with this as soon as Tonks had spilled about her feelings, possibly even before that.

"Go, Remus." Molly told him, narrowing her eyes and nudging him towards the doors.

"It's suicide! You haven't seen her when she's angry!" Remus hissed at her. Molly shoved him towards the door.

"She doesn't care about anything else but you, Remus. That's all she wants, is you. Don't deny that you want her, just in the same way. Now, go after her!"

Remus didn't want to face her; he didn't want to see that anguish that had taken over her beautiful face whenever he could force himself to look at her. It killed him every time he saw it and his defenses crumbled every time, but he couldn't be with her…could he? No, it would ruin her reputation. They would look down upon her, for dating him. She would be in danger. With his cover blown with the werewolves, this was his only excuse right now. He knew she didn't care about his shabbiness, his age, his state of being poor or his unemployment by anything but the Order, which, he knew, would steadily decline without Dumbledore their to guide them.

Sighing, running a hand through his hair, something he had picked up from James, a long, long time ago, but had stopped with his death and picked up again when he'd met with Tonks, something that eluded him. He sighed, knowing that Molly would have his head if he didn't go after Tonks.

Bloody ravenous, hormonal, thrice-damnably beautiful women! He thought to himself, heading out onto the grounds, eyes searching for a hint of her. He saw the seats and, regrettably, the ivory tomb that had been fashioned for the now late headmaster. He couldn't believe that Albus was gone, dead…the man who had given him a chance at even a small smidgeon at normal life…and given it back when it had been yanked away at the time he needed it to most. God, Dumbledore had been needed to win this war and he didn't know what he would do now that he was gone.

He saw a lone figure, Harry, standing by the lake, staring into the lapping, clear waters. Ron and Hermione were off to the side, standing awkwardly apart from each other, watching their friend. Remus's heart ripped for the boy he so wished he could have raised as his own son and kept him from the blasted Dursleys that had tried to break his iron will and fiercely compassionate heart. Why anybody would even want to try and break down such a sweet, loyal and boldly brave, unselfish boy he couldn't fathom. He knew the depths of evil, he had such a beast inside of him, but there was something…pure about Harry, something steady and bright and full. Something great.

Something all too entirely Dumbledore. The boy was so much like Albus is was frightening sometimes. Not entirely like the late headmaster, but there were times when he would look at him and remember everything he had done and compare it with that of what Dumbledore did. In his youth, according to his autobiography, The Life of a Loon, he had been rather reckless with a penchant for not thinking properly when it concerned the life of others. Something that reeked of Harry, in Remus's opinion.

But no Tonks. Ginny was heading towards him. He noted the look of fresh tears on her face and a determination and fierceness not to cry again and knew that, unlike Tonks, she wouldn't push Harry into being with her. But their relationship was rather different, he supposed. Harry and Ginny were…perfect for one another. Maybe he was just remembering James and Lily, but when he saw the two together, they were…it wasn't even possible to express? Meant for one another? A match made in heaven? He didn't know, but the previous ones weren't even close to describing how much they were meant for each other.

Ginny stopped in front of him, told him softly, "Don't you dare let her go, Professor!"

"Ginny, you wouldn't…" But of course she would understand. She'd just been jilted herself, by a man who was made for her, practically. By a boy she'd loved forever, at least in her eyes.

"You know I would, Remus. That git of a dumbass can't see that I don't care if it's dangerous! And I'll wait for him, the arse. I'll wait for him forever if it takes that long for him to see that I don't care…but I'll have my time. I swear it. It's more important knowing that if I die, or he dies, and we never had that time together, then he'll know then that we were supposed to be with another, with what time we had left. It's more important "

"Remus, I guess you don't really understand. You've never fallen in love, have you?"

"Er, no, Lily. You know that." It was almost disappointed, but he had come to believe that he would never fall in love.

"I…I don't care if it's dangerous to get married now, to start a family now. I want what time I have with James that I am given by whatever Powers that Be, knowing that even if tomorrow I die, or he dies, or if we both die, we loved and we lived. By god, Remus, I felt like the moment I loved him, the very moment I fell in love with him, it was the moment I truly began to live. And I will live so long as I love him and he loves me. It matters, yes, that it's dangerous, but it matters more that we take what time we have and make it long enough to last a lifetime, even if it's only a day."

Remus fell silent, pondering the words.

"You'll understand someday, Remus. Now, are you going to walk me down the aisle to that annoying twerp of a man that I love, or are you just going to stand there and ponder all day?"

When had he forgotten that conversation, right before James and Lily had gotten married. When had he forgotten that? Looking at Ginny as if somehow she held Lily's spirit in her hands, he knew that Harry was very lucky, lucky man, indeed.

"I think that got through your thick skull. Hmph. She's down by Hagrid's, with Witherwings." Ginny stalked away, sending not even a glance back at him. She and Tonks were a lot alike, he thought, watching her walk away. A lot alike.

Shaking his head, suddenly seeing the 'go with Tonks' side of the argument in a whole new light, he headed down towards Hagrid's hut, his hands shoved in his pockets. His hands were shoved in his pockets. A part of him yelled at him not to, to keep her perfectly safe, and another part of him argued that she was a bloody auror, her life was on the line every single day, and she knew how to take care of herself.

He stopped when he saw Tonks, propped on the small vegetable patch fence, Witherwings (Buckbeak) standing in front of her. With her small, thin frame sitting on top of the highest rung in the rickety fence, and Buckbeak resting on his hind legs, they were eye to eye, yellow eyes meeting dark brown. She had always had lovely eyes, twinkling dark eyes with hidden laughter and a true love for the life around her. Why would she want to waste her wonderful liveliness and joy on a depressing, despondent, and severely poor, old and dangerous man like him? Why would she want to waste her bright future with an old cad like him?

Because she loves you.

She had said it once, yes, but how did he know that his evasive tactics hadn't made her fall out of love with him?

Maybe she didn't love him anymore, maybe, just maybe she truly hated him now. And it devastated him, thinking that there was a possibility that she might not love him back, the way he so desperately loved her. He never wanted to admit it to himself that he loved her with everything he had in his frail, weary body, everything he harbored in his weak, careworn heart. Just seeing her bright, perfect smile, beautiful, twinkling eyes, soft, vibrant colored hair, pale, heart-shaped face, hearing her loud, sometimes obnoxious, other times melodious voice, whether it be shouting or whispering, made his heart jump, his stomach flop, his head feel drunk and swollen as he couldn't keep his senses off of her.

He wanted to protect her, wanted to pick her up and hold her and keep her safe from the world he knew to be fickle and so cruel. He wanted to kiss her and make all her pain, all her sorrow, all her anger float away. He wanted to feel those soft, lovely lips against his once more, hear her tell him she loved him.

Hear him own voice tell her the words back.

He wanted to sink into her eyes, her heart, her very soul and look there, finding out every little bit of her. Finding out every tiny detail of her life. He wanted to open his heart to her. She was the kind of woman you kept, the kind of woman you trusted with your heart, let them open it and read it through, thoroughly, let them hug and kiss away your fears, the hurts of painful memories when they surfaced. She wasn't a 'nobody' in a dusty hotel room, a need to wash everything away with raw need. She was a laughing, beautiful little woman who, with time, could wear away at the stone barriers around his heart with gentle care, one by one dissolving the stones and burrowing herself deep in his soul, to keep as his forever.

She was it for him. She was what every wolf yearned for, every man dreamed of. She was his mate.

His perfection.

And he wished he hadn't wasted so much time to realize that, wished the stupid noble part of him that he and Harry shared hadn't shoved her away, out of both selfishness to keep his own heart protected and fear that he might lose her.

And that would kill him. It would simply kill him to lose her. He didn't want that. He wanted…

He just wanted her. Just her.

He knew that she knew he stood there, but was purposely ignoring her. Her hair had gone from gilded brown to pitch black and was slowly changing tints. Blue-black, red-black, green-black, silver-black, gold-black. It was like watching a shadowed rainbow changing colors. He imagined it was just the opposite of depression, where Metamorphmagi borderline almost lost their powers. When they were angry, they lost control of their powers and, in lieu of a better word, and one of Tonks's favorites, they went 'wonky'.

"Nymphadora…" He decided to begin.

"DON'T-CALL-ME-NYMPH-A-DOR-A." She stressed out each syllable for emphasis.

"Nymphadora," He said anyways, completely ignoring her previous statement, "I'm sorry for eavesdropping on you. It was very rude of me and I must insist that I apologize to you."

Her shoulders went up and she fisted her hands. When she turned to look at him, her eyes, gone very, very dark, giving him the impression that she was seriously pissed off, and making him feel very small at the moment. She patted Buckbeak on the head and asked him to them alone for a moment. He sauntered off gloomily, plopping down as far away as he could, being tied to the post.

"That's all you're going to say to me! I must insist that I apologize to you. That's ALL? For MONTHS I've been wiling away, trying to get you to love me back, trying to show you that I don't BLOODY CARE if it's FRICKEN DANGEROUS! I don't CARE! All I want is you, you dumbass! I love you! I've loved you so much and you've never even said you loved me!" She jumped down, made a move to barrel into him, instead tripped and ended falling into his arms. So she opted to bang her fists against his chest, throwing a huge fit, screaming what a 'big, fat, idiotic, annoying, barbaric, evil, noble, deserves-to-get-castrated and to sleep with the fishes wizard who should just bloody love her and forget everything else!' he was and that she just wants him, just him. Anything else and she won't care, as long as she had him.

He held her as she pounded her fists against him, shouting herself hoarse until she finally drooped and began to cry, to weep long, thin wails and sunk into him, burying her face in his shoulder, gripping his robes tightly.

"You okay?" He asked when the weeping had finally died down and she looked up at him, still tightly held in his embrace. He hadn't pushed her away, or even removed his arms around her, but held her as she cried, as she wailed and wailed and wailed as her emotions went haywire. She didn't even remember what color her hair was anymore, imagined it was the color of a blank canvass that had been splashed with several different buckets of paint.

She nodded, biting her lip, looking away. Then she felt his hands leave her waist and tensed, her heart slowly drifting all the way to her feet. So he was pushing her away…then she felt two warm hands frame her face and her eyes darted towards him. He was holding her face gently in his hands, thumbs wiping at her wet cheeks, rubbing the moisture away and smiling softly at her, with gentle golden eyes. She sighed, leaning into him, feeling his long, slightly weary body against hers. She wanted to take his weariness away, wanted to replace it with a joy and love for adventure, wanted to take him off and see the world, wanted…everything with him.

"Dora?" He murmured, looking into her eyes, asking her without a single word if he could do what he was planning to do. She felt her heart shatter and explode and nodded her head, almost a little too eagerly. He pulled her closer to him, bent his head down, eyes intent on hers until a moment before their mouths met…

And her world, as it always did when they kissed, burst, stilled and time seemed to roll away and stop. He held her face in his hands, tilting her head back as he bent over her. Her hands found the loops of his pants and gripped them, feeling the ache to meld her body with his, to melt into him and just cease to exist. He kissed her gently, with an underlying raw passion that made her purr like a kitten. His mouth met hers in a swift meeting of eager lips and she gave as much as she got, which was quite a lot. Their other kisses had never been this intense, had never filled her with such passion, leaving her aching for more before it had even stopped. He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue into her mouth, teasing her lightly with it, making her knees weak and, moaning, she gripped his robes even tighter. She met his and he groaned, lifting her up more, moving his hands from her face to lift around her, tugging her to him, meshing their bodies against one another, crushing her against him, ravaging her mouth.

It was sweet and god, it made her want so much more. She moaned into his mouth, gripped whatever cloth she currently held, fisted in her hands, when he pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open and she felt so…empty and inside her heart was a deep loss. Her lips felt cold and bare without his against them. His were open, watching her, searching her eyes, and she saw love in them. Pure, raw, unadulterated love and passion and…the same ache she felt.

"I love you." He told her, his voice shaking. He was a little gray as she said it, and she knew he'd not told any other woman those three little words before. Her heart was fit to overfill with joy and love and emotion.

And it was sweet, sweet perfection, hearing those words for him.

Simple, beautiful, fulfilling perfection.

FIN

Yay, I actually finished it! WOOOOOOOT! Review, PLEAASE! I beg of you, PLEASSSE! Pretty PLEASE! Lol. You don't have to if you don't want to but it would be nice. XD.

--Dorkme (Devan)