A/N: I know it's a few days late, but I didn't have internet access over Christmas.

Disclaimer: If you are foolish enough to believe I actually own Harry Potter or this song, you really are an idiot.

All I Want for Christmas is You

000

I don't want a lot for Christmas

There is just one thing I need

I don't care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true...

All I want for Christmas is

You ... yeah

000

It was two weeks before Christmas, and all through 12, Grimauld place, could be heard the sound of a young woman swearing.

Remus Lupin was on his way to the kitchen for a drink, but paused outside the door at the sound of crashing dishes and a very irate Tonks.

At last, after several minutes of noise, his curiosity got the better of him, and he tentatively pushed open the door.

Tonks was at the counter, an apron covering her usual jeans and tee shirt. Her hair, usually bubblegum pink and spiky, was now chin length and green, streaked with festive patches of red and silver. She appeared to be attempting to cook—attempting being the operative word—though it looked more like the snow that had yet to settle on the world outside had instead landed in the kitchen; Everything, from the floor, the table, right down to the woman herself was covered in flour. She was also covered in batter; the bowl she was trying to enchant to stir itself was wobbling precariously on the countertop, spilling in contents all over.

"Oh, bugger!" she swore as the spoon flew out of the bowl, landing on the confection-coated floor. As she bent to pick it up, the bowl tipped, a mound of dough landing in her hair.

For a moment, Remus just stood, stunned, watching as the clumsy auror picked dough out of her hair, but at last he couldn't resist; chuckling, he pulled her to her feet, helping her clean up the mix, brushing some of the flour from her. He couldn't help it; by the time he was finished, he was actually laughing.

"It's not funny!" she said hotly, jerking away.

His only response was to continue to laugh. "You have something…" he brushed a streak of flour from her sweaty cheek.

"Okay, so maybe it is," she said at last, beginning to chuckle herself.

"What were you doing, anyway?" he asked, picking up the runaway spoon. The ceramic bowl had shattered when it hit the floor. Remus waved his want, and the pieces jumped back together, reforming the dish, which he set back on the counter.

"Well, Christmas is coming up," she said, "And the kids are going to be here for their holiday, and Molly always has her hands full with cooking and cleaning and decorating, and she's done so much for me, I though I would do some of the cooking, get a head start before she got here, but…well…. I'm not much of a cook, see…."

"I think that's a bit of an understatement," Remus replied gently, though his eyes were sparkling with a humor they hadn't held for a long time.

Tonks punched is arm. "At least I tried!" she said defensively. "I used to make cookies with me mum, but I guess I forgot how."

Remus waved his wand again, and the kitchen righted itself; flour flew back into the bag, eggshells vanished, the overturned milk jug went upright once more and refilled, and all the rubbish went into the bin. Even the flour and batter that covered Tonks vanished.

"Do you have a recipe?" he asked, taking the bowl and spoon back to the table where the rest of the ingredients were, and conjuring two fresh eggs from thin air.

"Erm—not really. I was going by memory, I thought—what are you doing?"

Remus had begun pouring flour, sugar, and the other dry ingredients into the bowl, seemingly at random without any measuring at all.

"Wait. You can bake?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I can," he replied, sprinkling a pinch of salt around the mix.

"But—but—you're--?"

"I grew in my mum's kitchen," he replied. She leaned around his shoulder, watching as he added the different ingredients. "If I wasn't reading at the kitchen table while she baked or made dinner, I was helping her. I'll tell you, it was quite a disappointment for my father that I wasn't interested in going outside to play Quiditch or whatnot."

He handed her the jug of milk and a measuring cup. "Half cup, please."

She started to pour it in, but he stopped her. "Set it down first," he said, and pulled her down so they were both on eye level with the cup. "Pour slowly." She did as he instructed, his shaggy brown hair tickling her ear as he raised her elbow slightly with two fingers.

"Add that to the dry," he said, moving towards the cupboards for vanilla. He hadn't even made it half way however when a squawk made him turn around.

"Oi!" He dove for the bowl, freezing it just before it fell, the spoon spinning vigorously.

"Sorry, sorry!" Tonks said, covering her mouth, green eyes—another holiday special—wide with horror.

Remus picked up the mess slowly, setting everything back on the table once more.

"I was just trying to stir it as I was pouring, but I didn't have enough hands, so I charmed the spoon, and—"

With a sigh, he took the cup, which still had a bit of milk left, and beckoned her over, handing it to her.

"Slowly," he said, taking her hand and tilting it slightly so the milk poured out at the right speed. "Same goes for mixing." He tapped the rim of the bowl with his wand, and the spoon began to rotate, stirring everything thoroughly, though without the breakneck pace that Tonks had set previously. "Like this, you see?

"Can you crack an egg?" he asked.

"Yes, I can do that!" she said, grabbing one from the tabletop. She was about to whack it on the edge of the bowl, but he caught her wrist just in time to prevent egg yoke from exploding everywhere.

"Gently," he instructed, covering her hand with his and lightly tapping the shell on the bowl. "You do the other."

Once more, he started to make for the cabinet, but was stopped by a tap tap crunch "Oops."

With a sigh, Remus turned back around. Tonks' hand was covered in egg, and the shells had landed in the bowl, where the still stirring spoon swiftly mixed them in.

"Tonks, you're hopeless," he said, unsure if he should just laugh or give up.

"Sorry…"

The helpless look on her face was just too much; he couldn't help but laugh. His hand on her shoulder, he sighed, chuckling once more. He handed her a towel, and with his wand fished some of the larger pieces out of the slowly thickening dough.

"Go get the vanilla," he ordered at last; it just wasn't safe to leave her unattended for more than a few seconds, if that.

A moment later she was at his elbow, the little glass bottle and a teaspoon held out almost like a peace offering.

Remus reached for the vial just as she extended her arm towards him. Their hands collided and the bottle—which Tonks had opened in her eagerness—fell into the bowl, spilling most of its contents before Remus managed to fish it out again.

"Oh!" Tonks cried. "I'm so sorry! I keep ruining—"

But once more, the werewolf found himself laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all. He braced himself against the table, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry—"

"Tonks, just don't touch anything for a while, alright?" he said. "Honestly, I've never seen you this clumsy before."

"Sorry." She looked at the floor, turning the toe of her trainer against the tile nervously.

Another wave of his wand, and the ruined dough vanished like the mistakes that had preceded it. A few minutes later, and he had re made it, a feat with shocked Tonks to no end as she watched him once more pour a dozen ingredients into the bowl, seemingly without mixing or even paying attention. She stood across from him, elbows on the table, chin resting in her palms, fascinated as she watched him work.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"What?"

"The whole—" She gestured, mimicking his pouring and mixing.

"Oh, that. Practice, I guess." He shrugged. "Until I met James and Sirius, I never really had any friends. I couldn't have friends, you know." He shifted uncomfortably as the memories washed over him. "Instead of playing, I was cooking, baking, or reading. I'd be in my mum's kitchen, and she'd tell me stories; stuff that had happened to family members. The time Uncle Bernie blew up the shed. The time cousin Matilda turned her younger brother into a goat. Stuff she made up, too. Fairy tale type things." He removed the spoon and began kneading the dough with his hands. "I was always a bit lonely, but she kept telling me that it was okay. That there was a happy ending waiting for me somewhere, even if I was…not quite normal. Her favorite saying was 'Everything has a happy ending. If it isn't happy, it isn't the end.'" He dug his fingers deep into the dough, no longer meeting Tonks' gaze, his hair obscuring her view of his face. "That was when I had my lessons. She taught me to read off recipe cards. I learned how to write making alphabet cookies. My grandfather had been an Auror, and she told me stories about his job that he told her when she was growing up. It was how I got interested in the Dark Arts."

The motion of his hands slowed, then stopped, and when he next spoke his voice was so quiet Tonks had to strain to hear him.

"She actually made me believe things would work out for me in the end."

Leaning forward, Tonks covered one doughy hand with her own. "Does this really look like the end to you?"

Remus nodded; not so much from agreement, but more to shake the cobwebs out of his head. After a while, he hadn't even realized he was talking, let alone pouring out his life story. He cleared his throat once or twice, then looked up, gracing Tonks with one of his customary smiles as though nothing had happened. She didn't need to see him so pathetic, crying into cookie dough.

Tonks withdrew her hand. She had only ever seen him do it twice, but it scared her the way he could seemingly turn off his emotions, retreating once more behind that half smile, the one that never quite reached his eyes. He was so practiced at it though, that sometimes it was hard to tell.

She pulled the dough away from him. "Now cutouts I can do without breaking anything, or ruining it," she said, pulling on a grin of her own.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Maybe I should stay and supervise." This time his smile was more genuine. Tonks relaxed a bit.

"Go ahead," she said, conjuring a pile of cookie cutters and two rolling pins. They each took half the dough and set to work.

The quiet kitchen made her fidgety, so Tonks grabbed her wand, flicking it over her shoulder at the radio. A holiday station came on, filling the cold, dark kitchen with a Christmas love long.

000

I don't want a lot for Christmas

There is just one thing I need

(and I) Don't care about the presents

Underneath the Christmas tree

I don't need to hang my stocking

There upon the fireplace

(ahhh) Santa Claus won't make me happy

With a toy on Christmas day

I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true

All I want for Christmas is you...You baby

000

Tonks sang along, dancing in place as she cut out Christmas trees, stockings, and angels.

Remus watched her work, cutting out his own cookies and setting them on the baking sheet. Her cute face, twisted up in a grin as she sang, flamboyant hair bouncing in time to the tune.

She glanced up, and he realized he was staring. He looked down, at his own thin, boney hands. A lock of grey hair fell in his face, and he suppressed a grimace. She was light and life, and he was getting old before his time.

Remus knew the change was taking its toll on his body. Only forty-one, and he could already feel arthritis creeping up on him, his abused joints, which reformed themselves three nights and three mornings out of every month, complaining when he got out of bed in the morning. He looked and felt a good ten or fifteen years older than he really was.

He sighed inwardly. It won't stop until it's taken everything from me. I've already lost all the people I'm close to, and my livelihood. Eventually it will take my body and then my life.

Another discrete glance at Tonks. And what's wrong with Nyphandora anyway? It's such a cute name.

She's so vibrant…and not just her hair. He could almost feel the energy radiating off of her as she took the full cookie sheets to the stove and inserting them.

Remus looked away again, concentrating on brushing dough from his fingers. It took him a moment to realize Tonks was talking to him, until something white and granular hit him in the chest and filtered down his robes.

"Wha—"

"Don't look so sour," Tonks admonished with an impish laugh, throwing another generous pinch of sugar at him.

"Why you little—"

Tonks laughed and ran for cover, grabbing the jar of sugar as he took a handful of flour and hurled it at her.

"Ha! You missed!"

His next shot hit her in the face.

Coughing, she wiped the flour from her eyes as Remus reloaded. She dodged his next shot, but it still hit her in the bum. Now on the run, he chased her around the table, throwing puffs of white powder at her backside.

On the second circuit around the table, Tonks slipped. Remus was close behind, and tripped over her. They landed in a tangle of limbs and robes, alternately laughing and coughing on the dust, rubbing flour and sugar in each other's hair, neither willing to admit defeat in their kitchen warfare.

Tonks hit him with a jet of water from her wand, turning the mess in his face and hair into paste.

She began to laugh manically at his soggy, surprised appearance.

"You think that's funny, do you?" he asked, preparing a spell of his own. Just as he opened his mouth, however, Tonks grabbed the collar of his robes, yanking him down and kissing him hard.

Very slowly, she released him. He blinked several times. What just happened?

His lips were tingling. Tonks was staring at him, as though expecting something.

Remus jumped to his feet and ran from the kitchen.

000000000

A/N: I'm not a big Tonks/Lupin fan, just so you know. And I adore Remus so much that I can't help but torture him.