This week has been terrible.

It might be argued, that, as someone who cannot find true employment, I might not suffer from overwork. But the fact is that there is always something to be done. I owe many people, and work these debts off in any way I can. Today, for instance, I worked with Harry on a new mission of his. There have been a series of unexplained disappearances near Dublin, and, having asked for my opinion, he determined that werewolves might be involved. Together, we set out to track down the cause (the Ministry was not informed of my help in the matter, for fear Harry might be questioned). That was four days ago. Of course, I failed to realize that the fact that the full moon is two weeks away may hinder our progress in finding werewolves. They were virtually untraceable. And so we finally gave up and vowed to return in two weeks' time, when our chances of capturing the beasts might become a little more favorable. I hadn't bothered sleeping during those four days with Harry. I took the Knight Bus home, because, to be perfectly honest, I was too exhausted to do anything else. Poor Harry made sure I was safely off before he apparated back to Ginny.

Harry really is an inspiration. He's dedicated to his job, to his family, and especially to his friends. It was Harry who helped purchase the little cottage my wife and I now inhabit. He called it a Christmas present, but it meant so much more than that to me. The location is perfect. The cottage is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an uninhabited forest where I can roam free during the full moon. And it's good for Tonks. She needed a place of her own, I think.

Now, having regained a little energy during my time on the Knight Bus, I stroll down the abandoned lane. At a particularly old elm, I take a sharp left. A few paces later, I spot the cottage through the trees. A setting sun makes the white-washed walls glisten invitingly. Unbidden, my spirits lift just a little. All I can think of is slipping into bed and sleeping for a good day or two.

But I soon see that Merlin had other plans for me as soon as I opened the door.

Well, this is different.

The cottage appears to have been through a war while I was away. I throw my jacket aside rather carelessly and approach the living room. The bookshelf appears to have been the subject of a particular amount of damage. Ah, well, there was nothing breakable in there. Just a bunch of books. But who in the world would wish to harm my overly thumbed copies of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and Confronting the Faceless?

The quiet and settling dust is rather eerie.

A thought occurs to me. Ever since my marriage, the house has never been quiet.

Where is Nymphadora?

As my heart begins to pick up speed, I proceed to the kitchen. Here, too, are the telltale signs of a catastrophic battle. Between whom? Was Nymphadora…?

Water splatters the walls. There are half-dried puddles on the floor. The sink is full of soap and even more water. I approach it to investigate. The remnants of what appears to be a broken plate cover a book. I lightly brush off the pages and examine the cover.

What Every Witchy Wife Should Know is written in an elegant cursive across the magenta cover.

Ah. I understood now.

I've seen this book before. Back when the bookshelf still stood upright, I found What Every Witchy Wife Should Know carefully hidden on one of the shelves. Obviously, Nymphadora bought it in to better her skills as a "witchy wife."

What am I going to do with her?

Images are coming to my mind. I can honestly picture Nymphadora attempting to clean up and only succeeding in making things worse with rather alarming ease.

Poor kid.

A grin threatens to overcome me as I imagine what she might have done to the rest of the rooms, but I repress it. At this point, finding Nymphadora is more important. She must be in a state.

I glance out the window, and yes, there she is, poised like a cat as if wondering whether to flee or not. The grin is back. I am much too fond of her.

I step to the doorway and lean into the frame, arms crossed. There's a thought in the back of my mind that I should play the part of a disapproving parent, but the sight of her fantastically frilly, out of character apron makes me break my poker face. I bark out a laugh.

She jumps at the sound. Then an odd change comes over her. The nervousness is exchanged for a complete lack of confidence. She looks horribly defeated. And it breaks my heart. But I can't just sweep her up in a hug and tell her everything's alright. I must let her explain first.

Her hair is gray. Her face is down, so that I can't quite see those tearful eyes avoiding mine. No, Nymphadora, don't do this to me.

"Wotcher, Remus," she murmurs.

The longing to hold her is becoming stronger and stronger, but rationality is key in such a situation. After all, I'm not totally sure that she wishes to see me at this point in her misery. And I don't want to make her even more uncomfortable.

Finally, I come to a decision as to what to say. "Gray truly isn't your color, Nymphadora." Yes. The sentence is a perfect mixture of wit and utter unrelated-ness, so as not to seem too direct. But when I see her obvious confusion, my confidence falters.

"Huh?"

"Your hair."

Her eyes travel up to catch a glimpse of her hair. For a moment, she is completely distracted. An adorable, very Tonks-like face of distaste emerges.

Perfect. Now I can segway into the real matter at hand.

"What's wrong?"

Her eyes, currently a very deep blue, meet mine. The impending tears give them a wet look. All of a sudden, words are pouring forth. She's telling a tale similar to what I had deduced from the wreckage inside. I know I shouldn't, but I smile at her clumsy, endearing need to prove herself to me.

"Nymphadora…" I begin.

"Tonks!" she cries a little too loudly.

"Tonks, then. Did you honestly think you had to do all that for me?"

"Well, yeah."

Inwardly, I moan in frustration. Nymphadora, why, why, must you be so absolutely, charmingly determined? And why must you sacrifice yourself for me, try to change yourself for me, when all I wish to do is become a better person so as to deserve you a little more?

"I'm flattered. But also a little sad." It's true.

Panic makes her face drawn. "No! Don't be sad! I'll clean it all up, I swear. Or I'll get Molly to do it!"

The cry of frustration is building up inside me. This puppy-like devotion of hers is maddening in its insistency. "It's not that."

She wasn't expecting that. My heart falters. Merlin knows, I do not deserve this selflessness. She asks, haltingly, "Then what is it?"

I try to control the chagrin in my voice as I speak again. But it isn't completely unnoticeable because, for Merlin's sake, how could I not be vexed by Nymphadora Tonks' irrationality? "Tonks, dearest, you don't have to change yourself. I married you, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah, but it's not like you were happy about it."

That line is my breaking point. No longer do I care about respecting her privacy. No longer do I care about controlling the exasperation in my tone. If I am to commit as selfish an act as marrying an untainted girl like Nymphadora, then, by Merlin, I won't allow her to suffer under delusions like this!

"Not happy about it! Tonks, you beautiful idiot, of course I was happy about it! I married you, the real you, the you who bumps into chairs and breaks everything in reach! That's the Nymphadora Tonks I loved and married, the one I still love ." The truth in that statement sends me bounding forward until she is within reach. I pull her into a hug that, under normal circumstances, I would have worried would crush her. Her tiny fists are pinned between her chest and mine and her face is pressed to the scratchy material of my worn suit.

It's so wrong, this love of mine. But, at the same time, it is too right for words.

But, I must now drive my point home. I must convince her that there was absolutely no harm done. "Now, if you want to learn how to become a little more like Molly, that's fine with me. But, for goodness sakes, don't do anything that isn't entirely you!"

She attempts to answer, but her whimpers prevent proper speech. Instead, her heart-shaped face nods into my shirt. How utterly lovable.

"I love you, Tonks." Not very eloquent, I'll admit, but utterly sufficient.

"I love you more."

I'm about to shoot that down immediately, but I remind myself to soften my words. "Thanks to the things you've done for me today, the probability of that statement has increased just a bit. But, no, it's still not true. I most definitely love you more."

A heart-warming giggle bursts out of her mouth. Looking up at me, she rests her chin on my collarbone and cocks her head to the side. I place what I imagine to be a calloused hand to her cheek. At my touch, the tiniest of smiles brings a familiar sparkle back to her red-rimmed eyes. Noticing that her hair has regained a cheerful, pink shade, I run my fingers through it. "Much better," I comment.

Our eyes meet again and an unspoken message passes between us.

I honestly do love this girl with every bit of my broken whole.

The moment passes, and I'm suddenly uncomfortable. As awkward as a schoolboy, I clear my throat to dispel the lump that has formed there and link my fingers with hers. "Shall we retire to the bedroom?"

She sticks out her tongue from between her perfect, full lips in a grimace. For a reason I cannot explain, the sight of that tongue sends my amorous mind onto a completely new, rather lustful track. I tear myself away from my overworking imagination and smile at her. "That bad?"

"The sheets tried to choke me."

I choke back a snigger. "Ah, well. That's unfortunate. But we'll have to figure it out." I pull her along, back into the cottage.

She pauses as she enters the kitchen and shoots me a thoughtful look. "Aren't you hungy?"

"No, I ate earlier. Also, the kitchen doesn't seem to be in shape for any new experiments at the moment." The first part is a lie – nourishment and rest weren't particularly important during the last few days of my life – but the second bit is honest. I can only imagine the time it will take for Nymphadora to put everything back in order. I resolve to do it for her before she wakes up tomorrow. I can catch up on the rest later, what's important is that she not be reminded of her faults.

She looks doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." There is no obvious trigger this time for the sudden release of emotion, but it comes suddenly and intensely. A lust for her overcomes me and I allow my instincts to rule, for once, as my mouth finds hers. In the time I had been away, I had forgotten the sweet taste of her lips and the delicate scent of her skin. And now I want to memorize it all over again. But, first, we have to get to the bedroom. Miraculously, I conjure up enough resolve to pull back so as to lead her upstairs…

Later, I watch her sleeping face, bathed in moonlight. As she mutters a half-hearted thought to the peaceful night, a lock of silvery hair falls in front of her nose. I carefully push it back behind her ear.

The predatory sheets had been easy to soothe. She had murmured words of adoration before she fell into a land of worriless dreams. But I, for reasons unexplained, had not felt the tiredness that had threatened me so before. Instead, I lie beside her, one arm slung lazily around her waist. And I think.

I don't deserve Nymphadora Tonks.

I don't deserve her youth.

I don't deserve her beauty.

I don't deserve her touches or her kisses.

I don't deserve her altruism.

I don't deserve her unconditional love.

I don't deserve her whole.

Living with her, watching her irrational immaturity and her still hormone-ruled reactions, I'm constantly reminded of just how much I don't deserve her. Truly, marrying Nymphadora Tonks was the most selfish thing I have ever done. But it is done. All I can do now is convince her that, of the two of us, she is the one who is perfect exactly as she is. I swear that I will, if it's the last thing I do.

You know, writing this, I realized just how true my words of the last chapter were. Not only does Tonks have potential under the surface, so does her spouse! This chapter I got to delve into the inner workings of Remus Lupin. Which I enjoyed, perhaps a little too much. I worry, though, that I may have made him too fatherly here. It's difficult not to, because he's so aware of the age difference that separates them. So, what do you think (because your opinions are the ones that count)? Did I balance the father/lover role of his well enough?

Also, I realize he's over-thinking things a bit. But that's sort of how he would function, in my opinion. He was the most mature of the Marauders and is known for always thinking things through. Doesn't it make sense that he would overanalyze his situations sometimes? No? Ah, well.

I'm gonna put this up then go do all that other ridiculous stuff I have to do. After all, FF comes first! (psh, who needs homework anyway)

~Willow

P.S. Were those first few paragraphs a promise for the future? Of course not... As if I can write a story over 2 chapters long... (don'tlookatmedon'tlookatmeDON'TLOOKATME)