A/N: School is over at last! Hooray! I'm super excited to finally be able to post this.

As the summary suggests, this is yet another post-hospital-wing scene. I figured I ought to try it at some point.

This story features Remus and Tonks, but is not in any way related to any of my other stories. It was originally a one-shot, but has since lengthened into a three-sectioned-thingy. I say that because the sections aren't so much chapters as parts; it's more of a really, really long one-shot.

I've rated this T for some harsh language - there's not a lot of it, but it is there.

Part I is dedicated to StrawberryFields, Hannah, and Anastasia, who left wonderful reviews on other stories I've posted but who I couldn't PM to thank. If you're reading this, thank you guys so much!

Part I

Nymphadora Tonks wasn't really sure what possessed her to act like a complete and utter prat. It had something to do, she supposed, with the fact that she was sleep deprived (and had been for months), in shock (because someone like Albus-freaking-Dumbledorewasn't supposed to just die), and still in that half-relieved, half-euphoric I-just-fought-Death-Eaters-and-somehow-made-it-out-alive state that always accompanied a fight for your life and left you with much more guts and much less reserve than you would normally have.

Still, she was not sure those things were enough to turn her into the exact kind of person she didn't want to be - the exact kind of person that, a year ago, she'd never have believed she'd have turned into. Though, in all honesty, since Sirius' death and Remus' conviction that he wasn't good enough for her, she was a lot of things that she'd never have expected to be.

She always said she'd never be that girl who lost herself in a man and couldn't bear to be without him. That girl was needy, and pathetic, and weak, and if there was one thing Tonks couldn't stand in herself, it was weakness. To be fair, more than just Remus was causing her depression: there was being stationed in Hogsmeade with bloody Dawlish, who never gave her a moment's peace and always forced her to take up extra shifts; Molly's constant mothering and pity, which actually made her feel worse half the time; losing Sirius and Emmeline, two colleagues, both of whom she knew personally and one of whom she loved dearly; and, of course, the war in general, the constant stress of knowing those she loved were in danger and could be lost...it had all taken its toll.

And then, to see Fleur, of all people, standing to defend her love for Bill despite his possible infection with lycanthropy...it was suddenly, horrifyingly too much. And she'd found herself declaring her own love, like in some sodding storybook, only in her version Remus was still rejecting her instead of snogging her passionately in front of everyone and saying some clichéd and sappy thing about how much he loved her.

No. In her version, he was refusing to meet her eyes, and stuttering, and turning her down despite all her friends sticking up for her.

It wasn't until Hagrid suddenly entered the hospital wing that Tonks shook her head, having realised she'd still been clutching the front of Remus' robes, and backed away just as Harry left with McGonagall, who, she saw with a slight twinge of satisfaction, threw Remus a scathing, professor-ish look as she went. And then it was silent.

It was silent, and she found herself looking away from Remus, all her actions rushing back to her (had she really said it like that, in front of everyone?), feeling shame building and tears finally coming. And she didn't want anyone to see them - even the bloody kids had witnessed her outburst - so she moved off, towards the door, dazed and bleary-eyed and not really sure where she was going.

Once, when she was in school, she'd been at Gryffindor quidditch practice, waiting for Charlie, and had got hit hard in the head with a Bludger. She'd barely lost consciousness, and though it'd hurt, she'd refused to see Madam Pomfrey, thinking it a bruise and a headache and nothing else. But she'd felt in a fog for days - concussed, the Hogwarts matron had said when she'd finally been consulted - and that was how it felt now. Everything was foggy, confused, dreary...none of it felt real.

But as she moved slowly, stiffly towards the door, hearing a ringing in her ears and the background chatter of other Order members and the kids - Ron, she thought, asking Remus if the school would be closed - the gravity of what she'd done finally sank in, the shame of it reached a peak, and she wanted to crumble to the ground with the weight of it. She'd embarrassed him, not to mention herself, and broken about every rule of professionalism with colleagues - not to mention every rule of simple decency with ex-love interests. She was horrified at her own actions.

Not to mention the fact that Dumbledore was dead. Albus-freaking-Dumbledore. She couldn't believe it, couldn't truly comprehend the fact that her teacher, leader - hell, friend - was dead. Sure, she'd resented him when he'd sent Remus away, but still...he was Dumbledore. Dumbledore couldn't die, couldn't leave them like this, in the middle of a war with no clear end in sight. He just couldn't be dead...he couldn't be.

As she made her way towards the door at the end of the ward, she tried to force herself to process that he was, that he was gone, and yet, though she was sure the grief would set in later, all she felt right then was shock and physical pain. Her body ached all over from being hit with various curses - though none of them fatal, she thought grimly - and she felt the strain in every tiny movement as she nodded weakly at Molly and exited the hospital wing, not giving anyone a chance to stop her.

The last thing she saw as she shut the door behind her was her own reflection, in one of the windows opening to the inky black sky. And she wondered, as she saw herself - sallow-skinned, baggy-eyed, and brown - she wondered just when it was that Remus Lupin had become the colour in her life.

The soft thud of the door drove that thought from her mind along with any lingering hope that Remus would make anything better, because he'd not even glanced at her as she made her silent exit despite the glare which Molly hadn't dropped since he'd rejected her.

I've done it this time, she thought miserably.

It was true that she'd argued with him before (far too many times, in her opinion), but never had he been so unresponsive to her pain, to her pleading. He usually had the decency to look regretful, or even ashamed, but this time - this time she'd seen nothing but resignation, and maybe even confusion, in his eyes when they'd met hers for the briefest of moments. And then he hadn't looked at her, through the brunt of it, and she wondered if her words had even reached him at all.

The way he'd taken to calling her Tonks, the way he'd stopped letting her in...things were so, so different from the way they'd been before, when Sirius had been alive and all had been right in the world.

They'd not been together long, sure, but there had been something - a feeling she got when he was around, one he seemed to be affected with as well - and that something had been strong. Sirius had seen it, he'd teased them mercilessly about it. Molly had known, she'd talked to Tonks about it on various occasions, always telling her how, while she knew a woman like Tonks could have any man she wished, Molly only wanted her to give Remus a chance, because he really was such a good man. Even Dumbledore, she thought with a pang, had taken obvious pleasure in pairing them for guard duty any chance he got, with that infuriatingly knowing twinkle in his eyes that said he was all too aware of what was going on.

Yes, there'd been something, even early on, and she'd labeled it love. And she was sure, though they had only had a few weeks of official togetherness before he was sent on his mission, that he'd felt it too, whatever it was. He'd said so, albeit accidentally, the first time they'd kissed.

"Molly?" Tonks called as she entered the kitchen of the Burrow, taking a moment to notice its other occupant who was sat almost motionless at the counter, looking more worn and tired than usual.

It was lunch time in the Auror office and Tonks had accepted Molly's invitation to join her at the Burrow for the meal, now that Grimmauld was no longer being used as headquarters due to questions regarding its ownership. Meetings were occurring at the Burrow for the time being, and though they sometimes had dinner beforehand, she missed living in Grimmauld and seeing other members everyday. Seeing Remus everyday.

As Tonks took in the very man's form, sitting slumped and worn and grey at the kitchen table with the Daily Prophet open yet being ignored in front of him, it struck her once more just how much he'd lost in his life, just how many people he'd loved who'd left him. The man sitting at the counter, seeming defeated even as he glanced up, saw her tentative and sympathetic smile, and offered a rather weak yet genuine one in return, seemed decades older than the one she used to joke with over post-guard duty hot chocolate in the drab kitchen of 12, Grimmauld Place. Yet even that kitchen, in all its mould and slime and dust, seemed loads brighter and cheerier and more hopeful than the warm and homey Burrow which, without Remus' laughter and smile, couldn't compare.

"Wotcher," Tonks greeted quietly, the word lacking its usual energy.

If Sirius' death a few weeks before had hurt her, it'd hurt Remus a million times worse, and she knew that while she couldn't hope to understand his pain, her own was more than she had ever felt before. She and her cousin had grown quite close since their reunion the year before, and he'd come to be a fast friend, someone she loved very dearly.

Sirius' death had been, and still was, utterly surreal. It probably had something to do with the fact that she hadn't seen it happen; she hadn't been forced to watch him fall. In some ways, it still sort of felt as though he was in Grimmauld, sulking in the attic with Buckbeak and a bottle of firewhiskey.

She'd woken up in the hospital to a sobbing yet relieved Molly and a stony, white-faced Remus, who'd refused to meet her eyes when she'd asked if everyone was all right and in doing so had answered her question without saying a thing.

She'd cried, yes, and grieved, and mourned, and felt guilty, horridly guilty, yet Remus'd brought her out of that. And while it hurt - hurt searingly and unbelievably at times - it was getting better. Remus, for one thing, hadn't let her swallow her pain and shut everyone out, as she'd been tempted to, and she liked to think she'd prevented him from doing the same.

But on top of how hard it was to believe that he was gone - actually, truly gone - there was her and Remus' relationship that'd taken a strange and undefinable turn.

When it'd been the three of them in Grimmauld Place, it'd never felt as though it was strange for her to be so close with Sirius and Remus, as though she didn't need a boyfriend or anything else as long as she had them. And now, as Sirius was gone, and it was just them - Remus and Tonks - it felt...different. There they were, best friends, a man and a woman, and they loved each other. At least, Tonks knew she loved Remus, and not as a friend. And when Sirius was there, their feelings weren't really pushed in one way or another, despite Sirius' constant teasing.

But now, now as they spent their evenings just the two of them (though last night, she thought with a frown, had been a full moon, and she'd felt achingly empty as she'd tried not to fret), it felt strange that there wasn't something more. Because they acted like a couple, it seemed, without really being one.

And as she saw him, alone at the table yet looking much livelier now that she was in the room - could she really have that much of an effect on him? - it struck her just how very much she wanted there to be more, needed there to be more. She'd pined after him for months and now, as her world was still shaking from loss, it seemed as though the natural thing would be for them to be more than friends, or whatever it was they were.

She'd tried, before, to push things farther, but through the past year Remus hadn't let her move them past the line between friends and more-than-friends, no matter how many times she'd tried to get him to take that step. But now that Sirius was gone, would that change? Would they finally-

"Tonks?"

Tonks looked up, shaken from her thoughts, and met Remus' inquiring gaze. "What?" She asked dumbly.

"I asked if you'd slept well." Remus responded, a slight smile curving his lips despite the bags under his eyes.

"Oh." She muttered sheepishly, grinning back at him. "I - well, not really."

"Oh?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's just - well, I was worried about you." She told him honestly, ducking her head a bit as she said so.

It was early for him to be up after a full moon, and he looked like hell, but upon hearing her words his features brightened into a genuine smile. She was half-worried that he'd be upset with her for bringing up the full moon, or guarded about it, as he was when they'd first met, but it seemed her concern overshadowed that.

"I'm feeling tired and sore but nothing worse than usual," he told her, still grinning, before adding, with a slight frown, "I've just been trying to work up the energy to make myself a late breakfast."

Tonks was tempted to laugh at him, for being 'stuck', as Sirius used to call him: too tired to do much of anything, often a result of trying too soon to move about after a rough transformation. Instead, however, she smiled at him, saying, eagerly, "Want me to make you something?"

Remus' eyebrows shot up, no doubt because he remembered all too well Sirius' tales of Tonks' cooking mishaps, yet he didn't seem to have the heart to turn her down when she was eyeing him so hopefully.

"Really, it's no trouble." Tonks continued when he looked conflicted.

Taking Remus' resigned shrug as a yes, Tonks put the kettle on and prepared to cook the only food she was able to make reasonably edible - eggs and toast.

"I'm sure you'd rather have Molly cooking for you, but-" Tonks stopped abruptly, realising she had no idea where the Weasley matriarch was. "Have you seen her today?"

"Oh, that's right, I was meant to tell you." Remus said guiltily. "Fred and George flooed in a panic, something about not having someone at the till and the shop being too busy for the two of them to manage on their own. Molly was the only one around, as Ginny was already helping out, so she reluctantly agreed to give them a hand."

Tonks snorted at the idea of Molly working at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes while she prepared Remus' tea, just as she'd noticed he liked it, and set it in front of him triumphantly.

"I'll just have to have breakfast for lunch with you, then." She said after he'd thanked her, turning back to the stove and beginning cooking the muggle way. She'd never got a handle on her household spells, after all, and she'd got used to taking the path of least resistance.

"Breakfast for lunch?" Remus asked in an amused voice.

Tonks nodded, meeting his eyes briefly as she moved carefully about the kitchen. "Used to be my favourite when I was a kid. Dad and I would have breakfast for dinner all the time, especially when Sirius came over, which was a lot, but it drove mum crazy."

For a moment Tonks worried she shouldn't've brought Sirius up and looked quickly and guiltily at Remus, but he just chuckled, saying, "I imagine it would've."

Encouraged by his response, Tonks continued, "She used to joke that it was like living with three kids. Sirius was over all the time until - well, when I was 8, and then...she just stopped talking about him at all." She finished on a quieter note, biting her lip and trying desperately to stop the tears from coming. She'd been doing so well today, too.

Remus matched her tone, murmuring, "I just wish we'd've been able to tell your mum. About Sirius, I mean. Before now."

"Me, too." Tonks whispered, feeling the tears building.

Not being able to reunite Sirius with his favourite cousin, Andromeda, due to Dumbledore's orders, had been harder than anything she'd ever done. She was always so open with her parents, so honest, and lying to them, even by omission, had been one of the biggest challenges she'd faced since joining the Order.

"When she first saw the Prophet - Merlin, I wasn't in the state to tell her myself - she was furious. Dad had to talk her 'round. I think she's still a bit mad at me for not telling her. She knows I couldn't've done, but still...she wishes I had." Tonks paused, turning back towards Remus, who was eyeing her with obvious concern. Swallowing her tears, one of which, the traitor, leaked down her face, she muttered, "I wish I had, too. I never imagined she'd not have the chance to see him again."

Remus, noticing the tears on Tonks' face, took a deep breath and, despite Tonks' strangled sounds of protest, stood slowly on obviously stiff limbs and crossed the room to gently wipe the tears off her cheeks.

"Dora," he said, the name causing her stomach to erupt in butterflies as always, "please don't blame yourself. You followed Dumbledore's orders. You did what you knew was right, what you knew was necessary. You couldn't have told her."

Tonks took a deep breath, closing her eyes and savouring his gentle touch. "I know. I just wish-I wish it didn't feel like this."

When she opened her eyes, Remus was looking at her tenderly, and she knew he understood. Instead of saying anything - for really, there wasn't anything to say - he removed his hand from her face in favour of wrapping his arms around her in a secure and firm embrace. Tonks sighed, taking immense comfort in his warmth and smell and beating heart as she brought her own arms around him just as tightly, burying her face in his jumper. They stood there, taking strength from one another, until Remus eventually spoke in a soft voice.

"There are some things," he said softly, "that Sirius' death cannot change."

Tonks, somehow completely certain that he was talking about this, about them, didn't have words for him, and instead squeezed him harder, not quite ready to put herself on the line and push him to elaborate.

Eventually, she took a deep breath and pulled away to look into his eyes, giving him a shaky smile and saying, "I'm sorry. It seems I'm always crying to you these days, and you shouldn't have to comfort me. I probably just make this harder for you."

Tonks moved to pull away, ashamed of bringing it up all the time, but he held her back firmly. "No, Dora. If it weren't for you, I'd be - I'd have run again, like after James and Lily. I've leaned on you just as much as you have me."

Remembering what McGonagall had once said, about how Remus' had pulled away from everyone for years after James and Lily's deaths, Tonks felt her heart lift. Was she really what was keeping him around? Comforting him? He'd only broken down once, and cried, and it'd been so touching, that he'd felt comfortable around her to the point that he could let it out, that she'd cried, too. But she never imagined that she could have such an effect on him, like he did her...

But the way he was looking at her, his one hand gently framing her face, his eyes searching her own as for some sort of answer - Tonks began to believe it. And it felt more strong and warm than anything she'd ever experienced, and despite the tears in her eyes she felt like beaming, because Remus had just given her the best compliment she'd ever received.

Remus' own gaze continued to search hers, and her breath was held, and she wondered, giddily, if he would kiss her. He was certainly close enough to, and his gaze was darting towards her lips, and he was just starting to lean down - but then, as wonderfully and beautifully as the moment began, it was ended abruptly when Remus' nose scrunched and Tonks caught a whiff of what smelled horrifyingly like burning.

"Bugger!" She swore, glancing around and finding the source quite quickly - four blackened pieces of bread. "I've burnt the toast."

There was a beat of absolute silence, and then Remus began to laugh, his arms falling to his sides as she stepped away from him to survey the damage. The toast was burnt, charred, completely inedible, and yet there he was, laughing.

"What?" Tonks asked, desperately battling the urge to laugh with him, because she was almost never able to keep from grinning when he was. This was shaping up to be an exception, however.

"It's just that - you don't do anything halfway, do you?" Remus asked, eyes dancing in amusement.

Tonks was tempted to join him once more, but instead her gaze drifted back to the ruined breakfast and she felt her cheeks grow red and her face twist in what she was sure was a miserable expression.

"That's one way to look at it." She muttered, the elation of their close proximity draining and instead leaving her cold and embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Remus. I really wanted to make you something."

Tonks heard Remus' chuckle end abruptly at her own disappointed tone, and she looked down, away from him, unable to see his face in her shame. He had other ideas, however, because a moment later he was right in front of her again and forcing her to meet his gaze with a gentle hand on the side of her face.

"Dora," he started softly, eyes still warm and amused but no longer teasing. "Haven't I ever told you that the fact that you don't do anything halfway is just one of the things I love about you?"

Suddenly, everything was bold. The lights of the room, the sound of her own heart, his eyes, a more vibrant blue at his sudden proximity...everything was loud and silent at the same time. The room seemed frozen, still, and the beat of her own heart sounded in her ears along with his voice, just one of the things I love about you reverberating in her head as she looked at him in surprise.

Had he just said that? Had he, Remus Lupin, really just used the word love in regards to her, Nymphadora Tonks? The thought petrified her, in the best way, but she was frozen, shocked, afraid to hope, to dream that he was saying what she thought he was.

She looked at him, into his eyes, and he seemed similarly surprised by what he'd said, but he made no move to take it back, to amend it. Instead, despite the fear in his eyes, the uncertainty, he opened his mouth again, saying, in a surprisingly level voice, "It's something we have in common."

And then he kissed her.

Tonks was, for the briefest of moments, too startled to react, but then, as if she'd known what he was planning all along, she began to kiss him back. His lips were warm and gentle, but he was not as shy as she would've guessed, and he slid his other arm around her waist to hold her close as she wrapped her own arms around him. And as they stood there, in the warm kitchen, clinging to each other, the smell of burnt toast lingering lazily in the air, Tonks thought that Remus was right - there were some things no amount of death or despair could change.

She'd been wrong, of course.

Not two weeks later Dumbledore had called Remus back after a meeting, a meeting he'd been holding her hand under the table during, and asked him to live with Greyback's pack.

The next day, after being distant, he'd told her, rigidly, that he was leaving, and that he was dangerous, a monster, and that he was too poor for her, anyway, that he was too old.

It was a dream, Nymphadora, he'd said when she'd protested that those things hadn't mattered to him that day in the kitchen. That's all it ever was. A dream.

And then, as marvellously as he'd come into her life, he'd turned, without looking back, and walked out of it.

She hadn't heard from him for months.

When she had, the first time, at Christmas, he'd been grey again. But this time, instead of colouring when he saw her, she'd been brown, and desperate, and pleading, and it hadn't at all been like in the kitchen so many months before. They'd argued, and she'd cried, and they'd yelled, and he'd kept up with his damned excuses and refused to be with her.

This had happened again every time they saw each other.

Sometimes, Tonks had told Molly, she'd wanted to give up. But she never had, because Molly had always told her he'd come around if she was patient. And while patience wasn't her strong-suit, she was loyal, and she was determined, and he was worth it. So she'd fought, fought desperately for him, though at times it felt like she wouldn't be able to keep fighting.

And then, like that, in the hospital wing, she'd fought some more.

And yet nothing changed, she thought to herself dully.

She walked, still a bit dazed, down a few flights of stairs and towards the entrance hall. Her feet were carrying her aimlessly, as she hadn't really considered where she was going or why she was going there, and her stupor wasn't broken until moments later when a voice she wasn't sure she wanted to hear called her name.

"Dora!" Remus yelled, and she, despite the petulant voice in her head telling her to ignore him, reluctantly came to a halt and turned around, unable to find the source of his voice as it ricocheted off the stone walls of the castle.

Eventually she located him a few floors above her, leaning over the railing of a staircase briefly before disappearing. She heard a few more footsteps and then he reappeared, one floor closer, his head popping over the railing as if to ensure she was still there, staring at him in dumb surprise.

But as she was snapped back to what was going on, to reality, and as he got closer, moving down another floor, her emptiness, her hurt, her resign - it was all suddenly, fiercely, channeled into one emotion, one feeling.

Anger.

Pure, exasperated anger. He'd rejected her, in front of all those people, just to run after her like this? Now, of all times?

She turned to go again and made it a few more steps towards the front doors before Remus reached the ground floor and skidded to a halt a few paces away, panting, calling, once more, "Dora, wait!"

And the anger intensified.

She whirled around, snapping, "For what, Remus? For what? For you to reject me again? To hurt me again? I don't need to hear it anymore. I know what you'll say and I can't-can't hear it again."

She was proud to hear how vicious her voice sounded until it cracked at the end and the illusion fell, her pain evident. She turned for a second time, tears clouding her vision, when his voice, desperate and pleading, reached her.

"Dora, please. Don't walk away."

There was a beat of silence.

A moment in which she paused but did not turn. A moment in which she let herself hope that he would change things. But instead, the voice in her head reminded her of the past, of the, as he'd so kindly put it, million times he'd turned her down, the million times he'd walked away.

So she did not turn back to him, and instead took the last steps to the door, opening it and turning, briefly, to look into his eyes as she told him, "You showed me how."

And then, without giving herself a chance to feel guilty at the stricken look on his face, she turned and stepped into the black night, walking briskly down the sloping hill's path towards Hogsmeade village.

A/N: What'd you think? A bit angsty, I know, but it will have a happy ending! Plus, there was that flashback, which was happy...sort of...in a way...

Anyway, how was it? Are you mad at Tonks for being so angry with Remus, or can you understand where she's coming from? What about the scene at the Burrow? Believable? Anyone catch the subtle LOTR reference? What about the subtle Starkid reference? I'd love to hear what you think!

Part II should be up within a week.

Thanks for reading!