Disclaimer: Sirius, Remus, Kingsley, and Tonks are not my characters, and the Harry Potter universe is not mine; I just like to mess around with them.

A/N: Part one of three; part two will be Tonks' POV, and part three will be Kingsley's. Sirius, regrettably, is deceased and gets no say in the matter. Also, I couldn't make a heart work, so...imagine one when you get there.

Chapter One - Remus

Even though it's two 'o clock in the goddamn morning, Remus finds himself awake and cleaning the bathroom of his flat in Muggle London. Mostly, he's glad that he didn't listen to Sirius when he tried to convince him to sell the flat. The logic went that Grimmauld Place, terrible hell-hole that it was, was going to be his home, so he hardly needed to spend money on an extra flat. Love, he said, could make up for his mother's portrait, and having Remus around made the place more than tolerable. Now…with Sirius two weeks dead – cleared of all charges and given a hero's honor, as if that was supposed to do anything to make up for Azkaban to a dead man, or to ease the suffering of the people who loved him – Remus is entirely grateful that, for once, he didn't listen, he wasn't compliant, and he had somewhere to go now.

He thinks he's been awake for three days this time. But time's starting to slip away into itself now. He knows he should sleep soon, but…he really doesn't want to, he resists it like a petulant teenager. Ever since he, Tonks, and Mad-Eye had drinks at Kingsley's place shortly after Sirius fell through the Veil – a nice, respectable abode, in the middle-class part of Wizard London – he hasn't been able to sleep well. All it was supposed to be was an elegy for the dead and a way to calm down after what had happened, but now each night he tries to sleep, it's a different dream about Sirius. The first one was the night he left to check on Lily and James, assuring Remus that he'd be right back; at least, Remus woke up before the morning and Kingsley stopped by to tell him that Sirius was a murderer. After that was Sirius clinging to him, drunk and desperate, just two weeks after leaving his parents' place. Some of the dreams are happy, like long-forgotten memories of romping in leaves and their first kiss, but waking up from them leaves him feeling so…empty. He knows why, of course, it's a simple conclusion to reach, no matter how much it hurts: he's lost the most important person to ever grace his life.

…That sounds terribly selfish, he tells himself as he scrubs the grout between the tiles. After all, now that everyone knows that Voldemort's back, Harry's in more danger than he knows, and not all of it's from the Dark Lord. Dumbledore has ways of keeping him out of it, naturally, but…they only go so far, and he can't interfere with the Ministry – Fudge is going to be out within a week or two, if Arthur and Kingsley are telling the truth, and Rufus Scrimgeour's in the running…and, he's better than a lot of the names getting bandied about, but he'll be relentless about getting Harry, and Remus knows it.

And…even still, Sirius was the most important person in Remus' life. He was the first to ask talk to Remus at the Gryffindor table, even invited him to sit next to him at their first Hogwarts dinner. He figured out about Remus' "furry little problem" first, organized the confrontation, and the Animagus thing had been his idea. He took Remus as he was – always as he was, no questions asked…or very few, at least – and rarely asked for more than love, which Remus couldn't help but give. Remus shakes his head violently, letting his graying hair fall where it wanted, and he tries his hardest to keep his mind on the stain he's working on. Every so often while he lived at Grimmauld Place, he would sneak away from Sirius and come back to clean the flat, during his first bout of insomnia, he'd spent two days awake, cleaning everything…this was what keeps him up late, so he won't sleep, won't dream of Sirius and feel loss stinging him in the deepest part of his chest. Sometimes it makes him cough, but, like the most stubborn phlegm, it refuses to stop plaguing him. It makes him feel like an invalid and doesn't even have the common decency to give him a few days up…and with Dumbledore sending him to the werewolves soon enough.

Suddenly, he hears a knock at the door, and his head snaps up almost involuntarily. Sighing, he heaves himself up, pulls off his rubber gloves, and, shambling towards the door, wonders vaguely who else could be up so late. He works out a crick in his neck before opening the door…and he still doesn't know why someone would be up this late, let alone calling on him…

It's Tonks. She doesn't look well, and she didn't at Kingsley's place – and not just because she got banged around at the Department of Mysteries. Her hair hasn't been pink since then. Rather, it's changed violently from bright and cheery to a dismal, monotonous black and it hangs limply, clinging franticly to her face…it forces him to see that she looks thin. Not thin like him, ragged-looking after years of poverty, but she's definitely worn around the edges, and she looks like she's been crying before this.

"Tonks," he whispers.

He reaches out to her, puts a hand on her shoulder. It must be the sleeplessness doing it for him; he's usually reluctant to touch anyone. She touches it shortly, and brushes it away.

"You're tired," she sighs. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No…I was up…cleaning."

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, of course."

He steps aside and lets her in, closes the door for her and leads her into his pathetic excuse for a kitchen. There's not much space, but his apartment is crowded by knick-knacks and miscellany…James and Sirius' burned out Zonko's toys, sketches and details of new ways to torture Severus Snape, old schoolbooks with love notes from Sirius tucked inside, remembrances from the trips he'd taken after Sirius had been taken to Azkaban, a box of collected wrappers, all from chocolate that Sirius had given him…he can't bare to part with them, sentimental as it seems. Damn it all, everything's coming back to Sirius; it does that so often nowadays. It's ridiculous, really, even though he knows why he does it. He stops walking, and Tonks stops behind him.

"You can sit," he sighs. "Can I get you anything? I don't have a lot, but…water? Tea? Wine?"

"No alcohol," she huffs, lowering herself into the seat at the table. "God, I'm still reeling from what Kingsley gave me…water, I think, though, and tea."

"Water, right."

"And tea."

"Right, tea."

"I hate to be demanding-"

"It's nothing."

"Sorry that it's late-"

"That's alright, Tonks. I told you, I was up."

He sighs and wonders why she's so emotional all of a sudden…it's not like her. She's always open, yes, frank, but not emotional. Without another thought, he goes to the only cupboard he has cups in and gets it down; he fills it with water and conjures some ice for it. She mutters a quick "thanks" as he meanders over, even before he puts it down in front of her. How odd, but the insomnia-induced haze prevents him from thinking too much about it. It makes him distinctly notice how she leans back from the table, almost instinctively, and how shaky she is when she takes it with both hands and chugs the water. He shakes some hair out of his eyes and gets to work on the tea – a simple repetition of familiar gestures: start a fire on the stove, fill the kettle, add the bags, put the kettle on the fire, and it's all good from there – and sits down on a conjured chair while the water boils.

"You were at Kingsley's?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "He's a bastard, he really is."

"What? Why?"

"Slept with me, then snubbed me and fell asleep like it was nothing. I mean, he was drunk, but you still don't do that to a girl."

Of course he doesn't, being that he's rather suspiciously gay…he wouldn't do it to a bloke if he ever could get past losing love, even just for one quick lay, but that doesn't look too likely right now. And it doesn't make sense that Kingsley would do it…he always comes off as so respectable, but…maybe that just comes with his job and being high up in the Order. Being high enough to not get sent on suicide missions, anyway. Remus knows that he's nitpicking, and he knows that Tonks couldn't really have meant to use "you," which is so open to interpretation, but he gets the meaning: she's snubbed and is taking it out on the world in her own special way. He knows the feeling…Sirius was never the most friendly drunk. At best he was a mess – at worst, a rollercoaster – and, either way, he'd be on Cloud Nine one minute, horny the next, exploding with anger soon after that, and then passed out on the couch.

It takes Tonks a minute of silence to notice the hole she's left in her statement, and it takes a moment past that for her to fully grasp it. She opens and closes her mouth, blinks rapidly, and looks like she's reaching for something that just won't come. Finally, she stammers something inaudible, and begins to cover for herself, speaking with a soft, unenergetic voice that's entirely not her own…or, at least, not the one that Remus has come to know and cherish in a fraternal way.

"'You' being used in the…all-encompassing, generalized pronoun sense. The 'everyone in the world' You; not the 'Remus Lupin' You."

She knows what "pronoun" means? How weird…she never seems the type to know any kind of grammar, save the basics like "capitalize at the beginning of a sentence," "use periods at the end of a sentence," and "put commas in at certain points." Granted, that would be better than Sirius ever managed; he got everything but the bloody commas…and, at that, he probably just misused them to play with Remus.

His silence this time isn't out of respect, or awkwardness, or even his lack of sleep, it's out of a sheer lack of words on his part. Luckily, the kettle chooses an incredibly convenient time to perk, and he runs over to the stove to get it. Somehow, in the haze he's put himself into, he remembers to turn the fire off first, though not that the teapot is metal and metal heats up quickly. He yelps as he recoils his burning hand, and runs a jet of Aguamenti over it in the sink. A small, barely there giggle comes from the table, and, as he turns his head, he sees that Tonks has a half-hearted smile on her face, and, though he doesn't want to since it's his suffering she's laughing at, he feels better knowing that she's not entirely downtrodden, not like him. She's still young and she still laughs easily, even in these dark days. He catches her eye and cocks an eyebrow, trying not to smile; she only shrugs, shakes her hair – it's starting to get more voluminous, and the black's lightening up a little, turning reddish at the roots and tips – and smiles again, with more feeling.

This time he smiles back and uses a potholder to get the kettle back to the table. In continuing silence, he gets down two of the cracked teacups and their corresponding saucers. Like a testament to his poverty, they're even mismatched: one of them used to be his mother's, it's smaller and white, with a tasteful floral design; the larger one is more garish, bright pink with a worn-out design done in gold inlay and faded green vines going up the handle. No one else knows the story behind it, and, when Kingsley and Arthur had visited after getting no response to their owl post, Kingsley had had a quick laugh at it. Remus isn't going to tell anyone, either, but he'd bought it at an antique store right after moving in with Sirius, after they'd gotten out of school; Sirius had been enamored with the big, fancy pink cup, and, whenever it was clean, insisted on using it for his own tea.

Remus slides that one to Tonks once he's filled it with tea and her smile gets bigger. Her hair gets brighter too; it's not quite pink, yet, but it's getting there, and it's starting to lift. The fact that they aren't speaking doesn't appear to matter…they've developed the silent communication of a brother and sister. He doesn't even mind that the tea is making his exhausted state so much more dominant over the rest of his existence. Yawning, he blinks, trying to keep himself awake. Something tells him that he's speaking, but he's too tired to tell anymore…he really should sleep sometime soon. The yawns come more frequently, and even rubbing his eyes can't keep him from fading out. It's terrible that he's not able to pay complete attention to her, especially when it's important enough for her to call on him at two in the morning…and now she has her hand on his arm.

Is he leading her on? He doesn't think he is, but clearly she must, with the arm…but maybe not, hopefully not. They're like a brother and sister, and he loved her cousin…he used to baby-sit her with her cousin! He likes blokes, even if he's not as open about it as Sirius was, it's true…and he doesn't want to hurt her, and she seems so upset…and she's still touching him. He still can't hear what she's saying. Finally, though, she looks up at him and he wishes that he could be just her brother, and not some surrogate. For a brief instance, her hair returns to its usual state: sticking up and violently pink. She smiles, and then looks at him; concern appears to invade her face and the black starts returning.

"Remus…" she whispers. He can't tell if it's hope or anxiety, but both fit.

"Tonks, I-"

And everything goes black as his exhaustion takes over, driving him into deep sleep. Sirius is in his dreams again, this time it's right after The Prank. He's drunk again, albeit only for the third time – which is a lot for a sixteen-year-old, but pales in comparison to the number of times he'll get drunk in the coming five years before Azkaban. His eyes are blurry and his face flushed, and, for what feels like the thousandth time, he's apologizing for almost killing James and outing Remus' secret lycanthropy to everyone. It's really only the fifteenth, but Remus forgave him the first time; he just hasn't forgiven himself for it yet…it's a feeling Remus will later become acquainted with, after Azkaban, after learning the truth, and after realizing that he doubted Sirius. Even while he's drunk, Sirius manages to leave Severus out of his plea for absolution, but Remus can't quite mind. He soon finds himself holding Sirius while the dark-haired boy sobs. Whispering warmly in his ear that, yes, he'd been an idiot, but all was forgiven…because he loves Sirius, he knows that he wasn't thinking clearly, and…

Remus wakes up at one in the afternoon, under an aged blanket and lying on his ratty, second-hand sofa. All that time spent sleeping, and he couldn't even get to the kissing that had soon followed. He blinks the oncoming tears away and absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair. When he manages to pull himself off the couch, he wanders into the kitchen; Tonks didn't clean up the tea, though, when he checks the kettle, he sees that she drank the rest of it, except the contents of his cup. She also left a note, which he finds under the chipped cup and cracking saucer as he moves them to heat them up. It's written on a napkin that looks like it came from a bar and it's scrawled in pink pen…it's still legible, though…surprisingly so.

Remus-

Thanks for taking me in, making me tea, and listening to me last night, but…please, try to take better care of yourself. Please? I can't stand thinking of anything happening to you too.

-Tonks

He sighs and flops into his chair. She signed it with a heart, which means that, sooner or later, he's going to have to break hers, whether directly or not. Usually, he's only been on the receiving end of such a thing – like when he learned in his fourth year, courtesy of a Ravenclaw sixth-year, that he fancied blokes, only to learn that he'd just been a fling, or, worse, when Sirius had been carried away to Azkaban. If he's ever broken any heart, it was unintentionally and he remains unaware of it. It's a daunting concept, especially considering that the recipient will be a nice, kind girl who he considers a sister.

He licks his lips and swallows hard, and it hurts to admit it, but, possible future heart-breaking aside, she is right. The full moon is coming, and, soon after that, the werewolves…Greyback, that nutter who bites children, who bit him. Merlin, the thought of facing him and his kind is almost as daunting as having to tell Tonks that, while she's a lovely person, he can't be with her. But thirty years of lycanthropy have taught a hard lesson, reinforced by losing the same lover twice: life moves on, and you have to cope, no matter what.

And…it's what Sirius would have wanted.