I don't know why
You want to follow me tonight
When the rest of the world
With whom I've crossed and I've quarreled
Lets me down so
For a thousand reasons that I know
To share forever the unrest
With all the demons I possess
Beneath the silver moon

- Ringside, "Tired of Being Sorry"

She must be insane to follow me out here. Damn her. She's a bloody Auror – she should know better. She's been tracking me for the better part of an hour, and she's probably quite pleased with herself, thinking she's gone undetected. But stealth and tracking has never been her strong suit. Besides, I can smell her.

Her smell is the first thing I noticed about her when we met. I was intoxicated by it the minute she entered the house, even before she entered the room where I was sitting. I've never told her that; perhaps I should have. It might please her to know that for once an impression was made not by quirky appearance or awkward misstep.

Tonight, the smells of the late summer night are pervasive in the forest on the edge of town. The sweet sap of tall pines. The stench of rotting leaves. The reek of animal urine and waste. The heady fragrance of blossoms in full bloom, even though they're sealed shut for the night.

Above it all her scent is as recognizable as if she were next to me. She smells of rain, and honey, and something else that I have yet to find elsewhere, even with my keen nose.

Why does she follow?

I double back behind the ruins of the church that once stood here at the edge of town, and find a large block of granite to crouch behind. Perhaps it was once part of the foundation. If it were moon tonight I could stalk and kill her with ease. But I am me, not the wolf. And so I wait. And remember.

The snow outside swirls and howls and pelts the fogged up windows at the Leaky. I wrap my cloak around me more tightly and nurse my firewhiskey. Waiting until enough time has passed to go home. Until it's late enough that I can convince myself I haven't spent another Christmas home alone.

It's noisy in here, and crowded, and if I close my eyes now and again I can imagine I am part of the scene, not just an observer of it. A reveler.

"Remus? What in the name of Morgana's crown are you doing here!" Her voice is loud, jarring, as it intrudes on my introspection. As I look up at her, I realize that despite my stubborn insistence on being annoyed, I'm thrilled to see her. She's beautiful, cheeks flushed, crazy windswept purple hair framing her lovely face, unrestrained smile that seems as if it's just for me.

I can't help but smile back. "Happy Christmas, Ms. Tonks. I might ask you the same thing."

"Glad you asked," she says breezily, taking a seat on the bench next to me without invitation. Or hesitation. She never hesitates to be near me, I've noticed.

"It seems you're in luck, Mr. Lupin. I just got off duty early and your holiday just got 100 more exciting. My family's away and I'm in the market for a lot of ale and for some good company."

I should decline the offer. Lie about somewhere I need to be heading. Continue to indulge in my self-defeat.

But I don't have it in me to do it. I'd like to think I'm just being polite. Keeping her company. But I'd be a liar. I can feel her thigh against my own under the table, and smell her marvelous scent, and I desperately want to stay. To be near her. I want it more than I can admit, even to myself.

This night couldn't be more different than the one in my head. It's uncomfortably warm, even without the assistance of the sun. Even the stone I'm leaning against retains some of the heat of the day. And there are no sounds of merriment, only smothering silence.

I can't see her, but she comes closer. A twig breaks. Her cloak brushes against her calf as quietly as the beetles stirring in the forest behind me. The scent of her closes in. She moves without specific direction now; she doesn't know where I am.

With the ease of a predator, I reach around the stone and grasp her leg with one hand, careful to pull her to the ground without harming her. My other hand is immediately over her mouth, to prevent her from crying out. I worry not that she will summon help, but summon something else entirely. With the length of my body I hold her still against the ground until she ceases her struggle.

"Why?" I whisper, trying to keep the anger from my voice, but I'm sure she hears it anyway. "Why do you follow me?"

"Because you won't follow me," she offers without apology. "It's all I can do."

"You know it's unwise to be out here. You could be seriously hurt."

"I am already hurt." Carelessly, I've loosened my hold on her, and she is able to wrestle a hand free, which she immediately brings to my cheek. My filthy, hollow cheek.

She won't relent, not tonight, not ever. And I feel my resistance waning with each time she pulls this stunt. One night soon I might give in. But not tonight. "Please," I plead. "Go home. I beg of you."

"Not until you come with me." Sighing at the circular argument, I roll off of her, and she rises to her feet above me. I remain on the ground in the leaves and pine needles.

"I can't do that. My demons are here. I need to exorcise them alone. Your place is there."

"You can't bring him back. This mission won't bring him back. You'll just end up joining him."

"Then so be it." But I can't meet her eyes when I say it. I don't mean it.

"Then you'll kill me as well. Can you live with that, Remus?" When I lift my head at last to look at her, she is already walking away, back toward the muted lights of the town.

I'm sorry.