Author's Note: Enjooooy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

Warnings: NA

Stacked with: MC4A; Shipping War; Hogwarts

Individual Challenge(s): Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Seeds; Golden Times; Old Shoes; Themes & Things A (Learning); Themes & Things B (Prejudice); True Colours; Rian-Russo Inversion; In a Flash; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux

Representation(s): NA

Bonus challenge(s): Demo (White Dress; Queen Bee; Lovely Coconuts; Wabi Sabi; Bee Haven; Odd Feathers; Surprise!)

Tertiary bonus challenge: NA

Word Count: 815

Shipping Wars

Ship (Team): Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks (Technicolour Moon)

List (Prompt): Summer Medium 1 (Writer/Artist)

I See You

On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

'Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass

I'm waving through a window

I try to speak, but nobody can hear

So I wait around for an answer to appear

—"Waving Through A Window," Dear Evan Hansen

She wrapped her arms around him from behind and her breath tickled his ear. It didn't stop his fingers as they flew across the typewriter.

"Come on," she said. "I can think of so, so many other things that we can do right now…"

"Don't tempt me Dora, I'm working," Remus said.

"Working?" she replied, kissing his ear. "What work could be so important that…"

"The kind that has deadlines that the full moon's gotten me woefully behind on," Remus said, still not looking away from the typewriter.

Usually, setting up shop at the kitchen table in the bowels of Grimmauld Square was a peaceful enough affair. He would wave his hellos to Kreacher every now and then, but it was usually reasonably quiet and he was a convenient distance from the kettle, should his cup of tea need refilling. For today in particular, he had failed to factor in the fact that Dora was spending the night when setting up his work station.

"I didn't know you wrote for… who is this for?"

"The Prophet," Remus said. "Among others. This is for their serials."

"Their serials?" Dora frowned, taking a seat on a nearby chair. Her hair, a soft lavender today, was braided loosely and thrown over a freckled shoulder. "The ones about that fictional Auror—Fleamont Nadeau? I thought Samuel Maysea wrote those…"

"He does," Remus said. "I'm his ghostwriter."

"His ghostwriter?" Dora echoed.

"It means he hires me to write the things published under his name," Remus said, taking a pause. His fingers hovered over the keys before he started writing again. He was so, so close to a good, strong finishing line…

"So he doesn't write anything after all," Dora said. "That's all you? Merlin, Remus, we've been sleeping together six months and you never mentioned!"

"It's work," Remus said. "We usually have more interesting things to talk about."

"Work is boring," Dora said. "This is cool! Those stories are brilliant; my mum and dad read them all the time. Some of the mysteries in there have stumped the Aurors at the office, we make games out of it, to try and figure them out before Nadeau solves the case…"

"Do you?" Remus grinned. He'd started diving into the mysteries after meeting her. He wasn't sure if she'd put the pieces together on that particular front yet, but this was terrific feedback.

"We do!" Dora said. "And my mum always says that she's in love with Samuel Maysea, but really it's you that she—"

"Do not finish that sentence," Remus warned.

"Right," Dora said. She perched herself on the corner of the table. Then she scrunched her eyes. "So why do you sell these stories to Maysea? Why not run them yourself?"

"I'm sure you can imagine why," Remus said. "My name is tainted. Nobody would read stories written by a known werewolf—much less agree to publish them. Maysea is a useful cover and he pays… not well, but he pays."

"That's preposterous," Dora said. "People love these mysteries."

"Maybe, but they'd be more afraid," Remus said. "And ignorant, and confused."

"Then they don't deserve these stories," Dora said.

"But I'm glad that they have them," Remus said. "Really, I'm happy that people are enjoying them. Them and all the other features and editorials and textbooks and essays I've ghostwritten over the years. It's just… better if they don't see me."

"Well, I see you," Dora said. She got up and kissed his forehead. "Will I see you in bed soon, too?"

"Yes," Remus said. "I promise."

He finished typing, gave his pages one final proofread, and rolled them all together when he was satisfied with this next chapter of the adventures of Auror Fleamont Nadeau. He bound the roll together with string, but didn't make his way to the second floor, where their owl liked to sojourn, right away.

He sat back down again, and typed away.

Dear Mr Maysea,

Please find attached the latest pages of your serial, and the final ones that will be published under your name alone.

While I would not ask you to acknowledge be as your ghostwriter, I would ask for shared credit on the next story. Or else, I will happily write a breathtaking conclusion to the serial for an additional 10 galleons—which I think you would agree with me is the industry standard.

Alternatively, this is the last that readers will see of my characters and plots. I do not mean to be difficult, Mr Maysea, but I have recently been reminded to be fair.

Wishing you well,

Remus Lupin