This story follows Waiting in the Transfigured Hearts series and is set in April of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Special thanks to Godricgal for her truly awesome beta work, and to the members of MetmorFicMoon, whose insightful discussion points inspired elements of this piece.

Through a Glass Darkly

"Is that done enough?" Molly Weasley's anxious voice rang in Remus' ears as she set a plate of steak before him.

"It's fine," came Remus' automatic reply as, without glancing at the meat, he spread his napkin across his lap

He must not have sounded entirely convincing, because Molly did not take her hand away, but frowned suspiciously at the steak. "Maybe I ought to put it back on for a minute."

"Remus said rare, Molly," Arthur said.

"It's practically still alive," Molly replied, though she moved back to the cooker to send a plate to her husband, and serving bowls full of vegetables to the table. "Won't it make you sick, Remus?"

Remus shook his head, dazed, and thought it the most ironic question he'd ever been asked, considering what he was, and that he was a scant few hours from Transformation.

"It's fine," he repeated then, noting how ungrateful his terse reply must sound, added, "Please, Molly, sit down and eat."

Despite his efforts at politeness, annoyance laced his tone. What on earth was wrong with him? Sincere courtesy had never evaded him, except perhaps in the case of responding to Severus Snape. Had his time among the werewolves tainted even this aspect of his life?

Perhaps it was the smell of the mashed turnips Molly was piling on his plate. They were his least favourite vegetable, after all, and the smell was aggravating an already upset stomach.

And this whole business made him feel like a complete charity case. It was bad enough that Molly, in spite of his insistence that he could fend for himself with the store of tinned goods in the Grimmauld pantry, had gone out of her way to bring him supper – a steak dinner, no less – but that she was waiting on him as well was too much.

Especially when he could not shake the feeling that somehow his taste for "improperly" cooked beef made his lycanthropy more real and appalling to Molly than it had been before.

"There's more where that came from," she said with a final dollop of turnips, before passing the serving spoon to Arthur, and heaping Remus' plate with steamed green beans and carrot medallions, "so don't hesitate to ask for seconds. You haven't been eating enough to keep body and soul on speaking terms—"

"Only because he doesn't talk with his mouth full," Arthur interrupted with a knowing smile at Remus.

Molly looked daggers at her husband before fixing her maternal gaze on Remus again. "You've got to get more meat on your bones. Half the Order are—"

A thump on the floor above cut her off.

"AUROR SCUM! BANE OF MY FLESH! BLIGHT UPON MY NOBLE AND MOST ANCIENT FLESH! HALF-BRED, SHAPE-SHIFTING—"

"That will be Tonks," said Remus, carefully laying his knife and fork across his plate. He had not forgotten that. When Molly's strawberry blonde eyebrows disappeared into her hair, he added hastily, half-swallowed, "With my Potion."

He started to get up, but Molly, already bustling toward the stairs, shot a look over her shoulder that forbade him to move. "You sit right there and eat."

Despite mounting irritation at her incessant coddling, and dread that Tonks would be here for a good deal longer than was required for her errand, and they would both be subjected to Molly's attempts at reconciling them, the pressure in Remus' head lessened as the well-intentioned woman huffed up the basement staircase and Arthur shot him an apologetic glance before tucking in to his steak. Remus actually managed to savour a few morsels of his own.

Until Molly reappeared, guiding Tonks – pale and quite frazzled looking – by her shoulders, and the stuffy stench of turnips invaded his nostrils, stifling the sweet, juicy flavour of rare steak.

"Really dear," the older witch was saying, "I brought along an extra steak, and it's no trouble to do it up for you. Just the hearty sort of food you need before working another shift."

"'lo, Arthur," said Tonks, shuffling toward the table.

Arthur's greeting was drowned out by Molly's offer of, "Coffee?" She flicked her wand, and a mug flew from the cupboard and a pot lifted off the counter, tilted, and filled it.

"Yes, please," Tonks replied, looking a little amused as the cup settled between her hands.

Seeing a mirror of his own sharp angles on Tonks' face, and similar weary movements as she slumped into the chair across from his and cradled her mug, Remus found he could put aside his preference for solitude if it meant Tonks was receiving much-needed looking-after. He even managed a slight smile at her as he chewed.

"Wotcher, Remus."

"Hello."

Though they had seen each other briefly every night this week, he had avoided meeting her gaze for prolonged moments. Now, however, he could not resist the brown eyes settling gently on him. Where moments before interaction had been impersonal and awkward, as he swallowed a lump in his throat, Tonks' presence had an oddly calming effect. Perhaps it was merely in comparison to Molly setting him on edge. This certainly seemed the case when Tonks dropped her gaze suddenly, with an "Oh!" of recollection, and sloshed coffee as she set her mug on the table.

A moment of rifling through the pocket of her scarlet Auror robes, which apparently held a great deal, then Tonks held out a phial and leant across the table to hand it to him. "Great with steak, I hear."

"Is it?" said Remus, placing the phial discreetly behind his glass. He searched for a witty response, but found himself unable to think of anything except to notice that at the cooker, Molly's ears had pricked, and he could probably expect her to insist on serving him steak dinners every full moon.

Tonks' smile and gaze faltered as silence descended heavily once more. Molly turned over Tonks' steak rather aggressively, and shot Remus a scolding glance over her shoulder. He roiled. If she was so insistent they have pleasant dinner conversation, why did she not initiate it?

Dabbing the corners of his mouth on his napkin, Arthur cleared his throat and asked cheerfully, "What have they got you doing tonight, Tonks?"

"Being run ragged," said Molly, spearing the steak savagely with a fork. "Double shifts…Really now, doesn't the Ministry realise Aurors need a good night's sleep more than anyone?"

"I caught an hour kip earlier," said Tonks lightly, but her lower-than-usual voice belied her fatigue. Her eyes seemed not to see anything as she added, more quietly, "Dementor Duty."

Molly shuddered, as did Remus, though he doubted for the same reason. In his mind loomed not the hooded figures, but a more harrowing wraith-like werewolf -- the corrupted spirit guardian Tonks would be calling up all night.

Arthur said, "Heard the infestation's particularly bad down near—"

"Don't make her think about the horrible creatures before she's got to," Molly interrupted, plopping Tonks' plate down in front of her and heaping it with vegetables. Remus had just raised the phial of Wolfsbane Potion to his lips as Molly uncovered the dish of turnips. The mingling odours were stifling, and made him woozy. "Cheerful talk's good for the digestion."

Her eyes settled to Remus as he struggled to swallow the Potion. As her gaze lingered on the phial, he adjusted his hand around it to conceal it better.

"You pair are seeing a lot of each other, then?" Molly asked, trying but failing to sound nonchalant.

Tonks' knife screeched on her plate as she darted her eyes apologetically at Remus. Yet there was also a glint there, almost like amusement. Or triumph.

Heat prickled as he felt perspiration bead on the back of his neck. Merlin, it was warm from all the cooking. He tugged at his collar, and his fingers brushed the hair at his nape, which was damp.

"The potion must be administered daily," he said.

"Well, you know what they say about the medicine going down." Molly took her own seat with a hmph of unconcealed annoyance. She picked up her fork and shovelled turnips onto them, and said, "I should think this arrangement with the Wolfsbane Potion is good for a great deal more than your physical health, Remus. If you're being civil to dear Tonks, that is."

"Molly…" Arthur mildly rebuked.

"There's no reason…" Molly's forkful of turnips hovered in the air, and Remus wasn't sure if it was the steam from the piping hot dishes on the table, or if his vision had blurred, but everything seemed out of focus, and the table seemed to have shrunk, forcing the four to sit too close together, and it was so bloody hot. His eyes darted to the small, grimy window. It was shut. He tried to remember the spell to open windows, but Molly's voice distracted him. "…if you're seeing each other every day, for you not to be together. It's what the both of you want—"

Sick. He was going to be sick.

His chair legs screeched on the floor, sending roaring pain ripping through his eardrums, pounding deep in his head, and he nearly upended it as he stood. The room span as he staggered for the back door, and a din made him register that everyone was talking to him, though he could not make out any words except Molly's unmistakable voice muttering something about the practically raw meat being the culprit.

Despite his aching head, the slam of the door behind him, and the creak of the porch beneath his leaden feet were welcome sounds as evening spring air hit his face.

The privacy and air did not, however, relieve his nausea. The moment he descended the steps into the garden, his stomach insisted on emptying its contents into the shrubs.

The porch door squealed again, then softly shut.

Great. There was nothing like being sick in front of other people.

Especially in front of Tonks. He knew it could only be her.

When he straightened up, throat burning, and wiped his mouth on a tatty handkerchief, he found she mercifully lingered on the porch, back turned, and had tried to assume a casual stance.

"I'm fine, Tonks," he said hoarsely. "Go back inside and eat. Rest before your—"

Another wave of nausea doubled him over again. He heard nothing but his own retching, and was startled a moment later when he felt strong hands on his shoulders, pressing him into a rusty lawn chair. His dizziness abated when cool fingers touched his forehead and a damp cloth dabbed his neck. In spite of his loathing for others being privy to this sort of thing, Remus leant back into her.

"Bloody turnips were getting to me too," said Tonks. She paused, then added tremulously, "Or is it the potion?"

He nodded. Her hands stopped sponging his neck. He reached back and caught one.

"It means it's working," he reassured. "The wolf is being purged."

Behind him, her breath hitched, and she whispered, "Oh," in a way that made it plain it was news to her how the Potion worked.

Remus was equally astonished. Surely she knew Wolfsbane alone would kill a werewolf. What had Snape told her? Did she think merely being drugged would make a Dark Creature docile?

Part of him wished he had not led her to think otherwise. She didn't need to know the truth about this.

He didn't want her pity.

"Is it because you haven't taken it in a long time?" Tonks asked. "D'you have to get used to it again?"

Remus nodded, recalling how violently ill he had been when he first took the Potion, when he'd started at Hogwarts. "I believe I'd been sick the first time you saw me after…"

He stopped short. Why on earth had he blurted that? It must be her fingers in his hair, reminding him of how this time of month had been when they were together.

"Oh yeah," said Tonks, shakily and, oddly, with a little chuckle, moving the damp cloth over his forehead and face. "I marked it on my calendar," she babbled on. "First really successful Evanesco. Owled Mum about it. I think she was prouder than when I got my badge."

"Obviously you did not mention why you performed the spell," said Remus. Her hand fell away. "I'm sorry. It's no excuse, but…"

"I know how you get when you feel like crap."

The sadness in her voice made his stomach turn with guilt. He slumped forward, and drew deep breaths.

"Can I get you anything to settle your stomach?" Tonks asked, fingers again stroking his hair. Remus knew he shouldn't let her do this, but he was in no condition to protest. "Tea? Soda water?"

Before he could answer, they both turned as the porch door opened. Arthur peered around it, light from within glaring off his glasses.

"Molly and I are headed home. Take care tonight, Remus. You too, Tonks."

After they said goodnight, neither Remus nor Tonks spoke again until after they heard the relieving crack of Disapparation from the side of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"You ought to go, too," Remus said. "I'm poor company, and it's not long till moonrise."

"Can I finish eating and hang about till my shift?"

He tensed, but tried to shrug casually. "It is Order Headquarters."

"I promise I won't do a Molly impersonation." With a hint of sarcasm, Tonks added, "It loses something without morphing red hair."

She turned and strode briskly up the porch step. Remus felt his age and condition more acutely than ever as he lagged stiffly behind and considered how tired Tonks had seemed earlier, yet was pulling herself together for another shift. Though his rational mind told him that most of the month he had no trouble keeping up with the young Auror, right now it seemed impossible for him to believe.

Yet as if to compound his frustration, he found himself paying an inordinate amount of attention to the swish of her hips and the outline of her bottom and legs as her robes clung to her as she took quick strides.

Averting his eyes from her front as she took a seat and bent over her plate, Remus Summoned the phial of Potion and his plate, and stood at the sink.

"Been meaning to ask," said Tonks over the rush of water from the tap, mouth full. "What d'you call a bunch of Dementors?"

"Frightening?"

"No." Tonks paused, presumably to chew. "I mean, what're they called as a group. You know, like cows live in herds."

Dropping his plate into the dishwater, Remus glanced over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow at her. "Is this a joke?"

"No, we really can't decide at work." Dark eyes twinkling, she said. "Personally, I'm leaning towards a swarm."

"Yes, they rather swarm." He took another drink of Potion and willed his stomach not to reject it. "Like mosquitoes."

"Mad-Eye insists they're a gaggle."

Remus choked, but with laughter rather than the Potion. "Mad-Eye."

"Yeah."

"A gaggle."

"They do sort of swoop like birds."

Again laughter nearly made it impossible for Remus to finish off the Potion. How like Tonks it was to think he was amused by the idea of Dementor gaggles, instead of what he found truly hilarious: that Alastor Moody would remain perfectly serious when debating with other Aurors about what groups of Dementors were called. Remus could imagine the craggy face perfectly as he offered up gaggle.

Remus turned to face Tonks, crossing one ankle over the other as he leant back against the edge of the sink. "There is something rather comical about creatures that honk, and that does not quite suit Dementors."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "All right, we'll compare them to vultures, then. A flock?"

"Volery. A volery of vultures. Nice and alliterative."

He couldn't guess why her face lit up at that, but he certainly could not complain to see Tonks happier than she had looked in a while. He forced himself not to think about her looking even happier when he had nearly made love to her last month. Before he had broken her heart yet again.

"But they're—" Tonks blushed, realising she'd spoken with her mouth full.

As she chewed, Remus wondered at how they were suddenly as comfortable and amicable as they had ever been. Perhaps they'd got over a barrier at last? Maybe they weren't doomed to an awkward quasi-relationship after all? Maybe they could be friends?

"But they're not vultures," said Tonks, swallowing. "We've got to alliterate with D. A drove of Dementors?" Her nose wrinkled. "No, that's not light enough. They're a bit like piranhas. Maybe a school?"

"Sharks travel in shivers."

"Dementors make me shiver," Tonks said, doing so. "Don't be so realistic."

"Fine. They're breeding. Why not a harem of Dementors?"

"A harem?"

"Like seals."

One of Tonks' eyebrows arched, and he knew she thought he was making it up. Remus watched her with a grin as she contemplated, and as she worked out that he was being completely truthful, her other eyebrow shot up.

He laughed, and she laughed, and he realised the sound did not hurt his sensitive ears.

In fact, his headache had gone.

Completely.

And his Wolfsbane Potion bottle was empty.

Molly was right about the medicine going down.

Tonks was good for him. She always had been.

God, how he'd missed the way she made him feel before the full moon rose, knowing he could kiss her goodnight (he wanted to press his lips to hers now, pink and parted with laughter), and that when he woke in the morning from the nightmare, she would be there, with hot chocolate and a loving smile. Of all the things he'd missed this year, underground, it had been her. Even the morning after the Montgomery attack, when the truth of why he could not be with her had faced him colder and uglier than ever, he had wanted to be with her.

She made him forget.

His laughter died. "You had better go now."

He turned his back to her and began scrubbing his plate vigorously, though there was no caked-on food to scour.

"I had." The legs of Tonks chair scraped the floor, and silverware clinked against her plate as she gathered her dirty dinner things. "Have you got breakfast food?"

"Cereal. Molly left fruit."

"Cocoa?" Sidling up beside him, Tonks smiled in the manner reserved for him as she stood beside him to soak her plate, mug, and silverware in the soapy dishwater.

"Tea has more medicinal value." Remus forced his gaze from her face. "According to Molly."

"According to Molly, Celestina Warbeck's a wonderful singer. I'll stop by with cocoa, and we can have breakfast together after you've had a lie-in."

"I can manage a bowl of cereal."

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"You implied it."

Tonks' jaw dropped. "I've never implied that. God -- you used to like it when I pampered you a bit."

"Used to. Precisely. But I got along without before you, and I can again."

"But you don't have to be alone! No one thinks that."

"Has anyone considered that I might want to be?"

"Bollocks!"

As Tonks' voice rose in pitch, so did Remus' temper. Deep agitation thrummed in his blood, pounding in his head.

He clutched the edge of the counter till his knuckles turned white, and the joints ached as he felt the pull of the moon.

"I cannot fight you now," he said through clenched teeth. "Please stop."

There was no way she could have misinterpreted the meaning behind his words, or the darkness of his tone. He held his breath, expecting to hear her bump against the cupboard behind her as she fell back from him.

Instead, she caught his arm. "I'm sorry. I just…Would you let Molly bring you cocoa?"

He shook his head.

"Why?" she whispered.

A heartbeat, then his admission: "Because I don't know what will happen."

For a moment she stared. "What Snape said…You're not…? He was talking out of his—"

"It has been a long time," Remus interrupted, "since I have felt this ill or agitated before Transformation. I am afraid I…I may have seen too much underground."

"Exactly – you're afraid," Tonks said, eyes tender and pleading. "That's why you're agitated. Please, Remus…" She clutched his sleeve, reached her other hand to touch his face. He turned his head, but her fingers swept his fringe out of his face anyway. "Just let me help you relax."

Remus snorted. "Since we're so good at being relaxed around one another."

"I'm going to be late for my shift," Tonks muttered, striding away. But just inside the stairwell, she stopped and turned back, hand on the doorframe. "Please…lie down, put on the wireless…Do something to take your mind off it."

"Much easier said than done."

One of the deepest frowns Remus had ever seen on her face lined Tonks' features before she span on her heel and clomped up the stairs.

"I am coming tomorrow morning," she threw back. "If it hasn't been a good night…" Her steps faltered at the top of the staircase, but she retained her brusque tone as she continued, "Well, it affects the Order, doesn't it?"

Without another word, she stormed down the hallway and slammed the front door behind her, setting off Mrs. Black again.

"FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCT OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREED, MUTANT, FREAK, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE!"

As Remus washed up the remainder of the supper dishes, he had a feeling that the portrait was not screaming at the one who had just left her noble and most ancient house, but the one who had stayed. The epithets had never touched him before, most of his time in this house having been spent in the company of those who saw him as wizard, not werewolf; but tonight had thrown enough in his face at what his condition cost him, that he was unable to let the words roll off his back. They cut deeply, poisonously, and made his blood boil.

Putting out the kitchen lamps, he made his way up the darkened staircase, startled but relieved when another flick of his wand to extinguish the hall lights silenced Mrs. Black.

Except it wasn't the darkness that made her cease.

Tonks stepped out from the shadows.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It was pretty lousy of me to tell you to relax, then stress you out with a temper tantrum."

Remus opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he had been going to say left his mind as her arms slipped around his waist, and he felt the flutter of her lips against his cheek.

Calm stole over him –

– and then his arms were empty again, and she was gone.

For some time he stared at the door that had clicked quietly shut behind her, then he turned and trudged up the main staircase to his bedroom.

He had Transformed there the previous year, and he had never given a second thought to doing so in someone else's house; there had been no harm in Transforming in his office at Hogwarts. But now, with every step he took away from Tonks' comforting presence, agitation crept back in. The thought loomed that this was not even Sirius' house, anymore, but Harry's, and he ought to be cautious.

Despite the fact that there was very little in the bedroom that anyone but a Black or a Dark Wizard would value, Remus put a pair of lamps and an armchair out in the corridor. When he picked up a swivel mirror, he nearly very nearly dropped it, so startled he was to hear it drawl, "Unhand me, you filthy, thieving tramp! I know you and your kind, and even the rubbish of this house is too good for your pauper's hands!"

Though some rational part of Remus' mind told him that the mirror was most likely referring to Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius' things, all he could think of was how for months he'd filled his belly by rooting through farmers' vegetable patches. His hands trembled uncontrollably as rage surged through him and, in its wake, left him an almost irresistible impulse to pitch the mirror down the staircase.

Remus did squelch the urge, and as he stood the mirror against the grimy wall, it cried, in a quieter imitation of Walburga Black, "Now, begone from this place! Carry your rags and filth elsewhere!"

Remus glanced at the mirror. The corridor was too shadowy for him to see his reflection, but he did glimpse one of the high, narrow windows, and the darkening sky beyond. The muscles in his hands twitched with the impending Transformation.

And with Fury.

He had to give in to this physical urge.

But not here. This was not his home.

The moon had not risen yet. He'd time.

Quickly, Remus descended the stairs, slipped out of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, ducked into the alley, and Disapparated.

The Shrieking Shack might never have been the most haunted dwelling in Britain, but tonight it would, undoubtedly, house the most haunted werewolf.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice – the female voice, he registered vaguely – crept into his consciousness so gently, like a whisper, that he thought it must be part of his dream.

Except he wasn't dreaming. He was aware, completely aware, of hard wooden planks beneath him, rough against his skin, and a chill. Light pricked his eyelids. Yes, he was very much awake.

Whose was the female voice?

Madam Pomfrey? Hers was a voice he'd woken to before, many times. But it couldn't be her. She would know what he was doing here.

"Remus." The voice trembled. Was she afraid? "What are you doing here?"

Yes, that was fear. Was something wrong? Was he wounded?

"Remus Lupin, wake up."

Not only fear. Sternness. Professor McGonagall. Was he someplace he ought not be? Had he done something he ought not—

Oh dear Merlin.

Had he – wounded?

Eyes snapped open. Body shot upright. Or would have, had his muscles responded to impulse rather than screaming with pain. He winced, too, as morning light, though wan, reflected off shiny objects on the floor. Broken pieces of something.

Shards of glass.

All around him.

Under him. They were cold against his splayed palms, the skin of his belly.

Oh God. He was in the Shrieking Shack. And he was naked.

And as his gaze settled on a pair of lilac trainers with lemon yellow laces, he realised that the female who had woken him was Nymphadora Tonks.

"What are you doing here?" Remus' voice was raspy and rumbling as though he'd a bad chest cold. His vocal chords hurt, and he had a clear vision of himself-as-wolf howling all night.

"Accio robes," he said, but he didn't have his wand, and he proved unsuccessful without.

Glass crunched as Tonks stepped around him – mercifully, with her gaze averted – and draped his cloak over his back. "You weren't at Grimmauld," she said in clipped syllables. "I'd a hunch."

Drawing his cloak about himself, Remus sat up, grunting and puffing with the effort, inhaling sharply at the shards pierced his hands. It did not escape his notice that Tonks made no move to assist him.

"How did you get in?" he asked.

"Dumbledore."

Mortification increased a hundred-fold.

"Why?"

Tonks' tone commanded his gaze, and Remus followed it around the upstairs bedroom of the Shrieking Shack: from the light filtering in through the shredded draperies dangling precariously from a bent rod; to the torn linens on the bed; to the battered bureau etched with deep claw marks; to the pieces of broken mirror on the floor.

"The Potion," Tonks said. "Didn't it work?"

"It worked."

"Then why…? Remus…"

He stared at the mirror image of himself, as he had last night, waiting for the change to come over him.

Watery blue eyes stared out of a pale, haggard face framed by hair more grey now than brown, and he unbuttoned his ragged, patched robes to reveal an even gaunter frame.

This was all he had in the world, this was all he was. This was all he could offer her.

She wouldn't want it if she knew…

It began at the eyes, a speck of amber at the pupil that soon became a ring, then flared in the iris like the flame of a struck match.

This was the dark magic that could wreak more damage than any wand.

Fingernails clean and trim in a semblance of a civilised creature, thickened and lengthened into lethal, cruelly curved claws.

These belonged to a wolf capable of inflicting the same damage as the one he'd watched tear a young boy apart.

Lips trained to form mild, polite expressions parted in an agonized half-scream, half-howl as his face elongated into a snout with nostrils flared, sniffing for blood, and razor sharp fangs bared for prey.

He was the wolf that had torn her young life apart.

Blood stained the coarse grey fur of the great, heavy paw as it slammed down and shattered the mirror, obliterating his own image.

"The wolf had a temper tantrum."

Remus turned his gaze upward to Tonks. Her baggy jeans were emblazoned with a rainbow of patches; underneath her clover-green Ireland Quidditch t-shirt she wore a long-sleeved striped thermal shirt; a purple scarf was wound around her neck; shamrock earrings dangled from her ears. But Tonks herself could have stepped out of a black-and-white Muggle photograph. Her mouth hung agape.

Just as Tonks' still silence persisted so long that Remus wondered if she had been Petrified, she whispered, "What?"

"That is what Dark Creatures do," he replied, now catching his reflection in her eyes. "The werewolf knows only hatred. What it hates, it destroys."

He had never loathed anything more than he had loathed the wolf last night, when he had looked in the mirror and known, with his human mind, that he was the monster, the beast, with the amber eyes, claws fangs.

"If the Potion worked," said Tonks breathily, "then it wasn't the wolf who threw a temper tantrum. It was the man. It was you."

"Oh. That is certainly comforting. Thank you."

Tonks sucked in her breath through her teeth, then exhaled loudly. Obviously struggling for control of her emotions (What emotions? Frustration? Disgust?), she spoke deliberately. "Not every negative emotion and physical urge comes from the wolf."

Dropping to her knees, she continued, passion rising despite her efforts to keep it at bay, "Anger is a perfectly human emotion, Remus Lupin, and you're just as entitled as anyone to give into it."

"You do not understand." Remus turned his entire body away from her. "You do not understand at all."

He swore he could hear her heartbeat. His own had stopped. This was it.

"You're right," Tonks admitted. "I don't. Merlin knows it's not for lack of trying. It's because you won't bloody help me understand."

They were the words he had willed her to say for nearly a year now. He had not expected them to cut so deeply, and he willed himself not to feel them. This was what was best for her. She would move on now, be happy. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

"You turn everything around," Tonks went on, at the brink of tears. "You confuse me, and I…"

She sighed, heavily, and though his back was turned, Remus knew her head and shoulders fell.

"I've no idea what to say to you anymore." If her voice was not the loneliest, most hopeless sound he'd ever heard, the crack of Disapperation was. It echoed what he felt in his own heart.

After a moment, Remus drew a deep breath. He stood. It was for the best.

It was time Nymphadora Tonks saw him for what he was.

The End

A/N: All right, so I might have lied (unintentionally!) when I implied Steal, Kill, Destroy was the worst it was going to get. Darkest, yes, but rock bottom for Remus? Yeah, this might have been it, and I'm sorry.

I also told a bit of a falsehood when I said there were only two more fics between Waiting and The Post Hospital Scene Finale. There are two more after this one. I'm pretty sure, anyway.

So, bribes for reviewing this fic? Not sure there's a Remus in here anyone wants terribly, but I'll go ahead and offer reviewers their choice of naked post-Transformation Remus who's not grumpy and self-loathing; or playful Remus who will offer clever ideas for what groups of Dementors are called, and will end the game with a snogging session. As always, I appreciate my readers very much. It's a joy to have fellow R/T fans to share the products of my imagination with.

And keep your eyes and inboxes peeled for something lighter on Monday, 18 September: the prologue of my collaborative R/T endeavor with Gilpin, Up All Night!