Author's Note: Written for QLFC finals round one. Prompt: Your team chooses a character and you must write that character paired with someone. Character: Nymphadora Lupin (nee Tonks). Pairing: Tonks/Remus. So, this is an experiment. I don't want to say too much, but I was hoping for a more surreal sort of a feel to this, and it's an idea I've wanted to explore, though not necessarily with these characters. The song she's singing is "Magic Works," so credit goes there for that.

Thanks to my lovely betas, Nightmare Prince and Lady Arturia, and extra thanks to Nightmare Prince for the title.

Word Count: 2,934

Panic. Fear. Colors flashing. Heart pumping. I'm going to die. Someone's screaming. Someone's laughing. Terror. Pain. I'm sorry.

She woke with a start, thrashing wildly against her bed sheets. Everything was dark, and the sweat that soaked her was cold, and, above all else, she was confused. She let out a half-shriek, half-groan as she toppled out of bed, landing face first on the hard floor.

The lights clicked on, and someone was there at her side. Warm arms enveloped her and pulled her trembling body against his sturdy chest.

"Shh now, Dora, it was just a nightmare. You're safe. I promise."

"Wh-where am I?" was all she could choke out.

"Home. In your room. You remember your room, right?"

Nymphadora blinked back the tears, rubbing away the remnants of the ones that had spilled down her cheeks, until things came into focus. It was all coming back now—the stuffed animals in the corner, the bubblegum-pink walls. She even recalled the scorch near the door where she had insisted that if her parents wouldn't change the ugly white walls then she would do it herself.

"You remember who I am?"

She looked up into twinkling blue eyes, framed by lines formed from years of laughter.

Nymphadora nodded, hooking her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear, "Daddy."

"That's right, Duckie. I'm here. Everything's going to be just fine."

Nymphadora knew it was true; her father had never let her down before. She snuggled against him as he lifted her off the floor and placed her back in bed, slipping under the covers with her.

"Should we pick up where we left off before bed?" he asked as he pulled a book from the nightstand. He must have taken her silence for permission, because he immediately launched back into the story. Nymphadora couldn't care less about the plight of the three little pigs in the story, but the lilt in his tone was comforting, and she liked the way he gave each character its own distinct accent.

"Little pig, little pig, let me in," he said in a deep, gruff voice. Then he switched to a high-pitched, airy voice and said, "Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin." Back to the gravelly baritone for, "Then, I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down!"

The wind whistled through the chimney in the other room, creating a long, low sound reminiscent of a howl. Nymphadora shouted and buried her face in her father's robes.

"D-don't let the b-big, b-bad wolf get me, Daddy!" she said between sobs.

"It's just the wind, Duckie. But I won't let anything—be it a wolf or anything else, for that matter—hurt you ever again. You have my word."

...oOo...

The memories were slow to return, like shadows peeking through the fog. Though her father said she would remember, Nymphadora had her doubts, and despite his reassurance that she only had a nightmare, she couldn't shake the feeling that she hadn't woken up, that somehow she was still dreaming.

Still, the afternoon sun felt divine on her skin, chasing away the previous night's shadows as she stepped outside and lifted her face towards it. She paused, though, as she lowered her gaze and found herself surrounded by an endless stretch of trees.

"We didn't always live near the woods, did we?"

"No, but Dromeda always said she'd like to," Daddy said as he knelt beside her. "I thought this would be a nice surprise for her. What do you think, Duckie?"

Nymphadora cast a sideways look at the daunting trees. Her father seemed so excited, but there was a sense of foreboding growing in her chest. Wolves lived in forests like that. She didn't like it, not one bit, but she didn't want to disappoint him, either. So she changed the subject.

"Where's Mummy? Why isn't she here with us?"

"Oh, she'll be along in her own time. There's no rushing that woman."

The conversation was interrupted by a long, eerie howl from somewhere in the depths of the forest. Nymphadora shuddered as she clung to her father.

"I don't like the woods," she confessed softly. "There're wolves in there."

"Tell you what, Duckie. If you don't go into the forest, you'll never come across that wolf, if that's what you really want."

Even though she doubted it'd be so easy, Nymphadora nodded and wound a strand of her straight, brown hair around her pointer finger. Her dress swept the ground as she kicked at the dirt with one bare heel.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, turning her back to the trees. If it was behind her, maybe she could forget.

"Hm? What's that? You mean Duckie?"

Nymphadora nodded, and her father laughed as he lifted her onto his hip.

"You were pretty young. I'm not surprised you don't remember. First time your mother and I took you to the zoo—it was my idea, mind you, and Dromeda wasn't thrilled with all the Muggles about—and you fell in love with the ducks. Couldn't pull you away from them for the life of me. You just waddled after them, hands tucked into your armpits like wings. And your nose! After a while, you even grew a beak. We rushed you out of there before any Muggles noticed, thankfully, though your mother sure gave me an earful for having suggested it. Ever since, you've been my little Duckie."

Yes, that was right. She was a...well, whatever they called it. The word still eluded her, but she could remember the feeling of her features changing. She could hear the laughter, too, disembodied though it was. She was weird, even among wizards, but that was fine because she could still make people smile.

Nymphadora focused until her nose and mouth hardened and stretched, even though laughter was the farthest thing from her mind with the howl still haunting her. But even her father's laughter couldn't soothe the unease in her mind nor distill the sensation that something was watching her from the tree line.

...oOo...

The days seemed longer, somehow, than she remembered, and her memories were far too slow in returning.

"Don't be scared," Dora sung aloud, humming the next few lines to herself. She couldn't remember where she'd heard the song before, and even most of the words were lost, but the tune gave her at least some amount of comfort as she walked along the edge of the forest. "You must be brave. Don't let this moment slip away."

Her dress swished around her knees as she skipped, and her waist-length purple curls whispered against the fabric as it swayed. She didn't dare look at the forest; she was being watched. Always. Rarely, when she dared peek, she would see the disembodied eyes following her. The wolf was waiting, always just beyond reach, willing her to step past the threshold of the trees. She wasn't about to give it the satisfaction.

Dora focused her attention on the hut that was quickly approaching, and she picked up her pace. Just as her father predicted, Mad-Eye Moody was out on the porch in a rocker, watching her arrival.

"What d'ya want, Nymphadora?" he called out as she started down his drive.

"Don't call me that!"

The words spilled out like a reflex, and for a moment, Dora was surprised to hear herself say them.

Mad-Eye grunted and tipped his head back as he lifted his flask to his lips. He made a sour face as he swallowed, and Dora couldn't imagine why anyone would want to drink anything that tasted so bad.

"Listen, best be on your way. I haven't got the time of day for little girls who don't remember a thing."

"I brought Firewhisky."

Dora held up the bottle and waited for him to weigh the options. In all honesty, it had been her father's idea, but she wasn't about to admit that. "Give him this bottle and ask for a story. He's got a lot of 'em," Dad had said, though Dora couldn't imagine what types of stories he could have possibly amassed sitting on his front porch drinking and rocking.

"Fine, then," Mad-Eye said, punctuating his words with a sharp grunt as he eyed Dora suspiciously. "You can sit, but don't bother me. And don't talk unless you're spoken to. Got it?"

Dora nodded fervently, folding her legs under her as she took a seat near the edge of the porch. It faced the trees, and for a moment she let her eyes linger there. She could have sworn she saw a shadow passing between the trunks, but a moment later it was gone, and she wasn't sure if her mind was just playing tricks on her.

"Haven't gone in there yet, have ya?" Mad-Eye motioned his head towards the woods as he took a long swig from the bottle.

"No. There's a wolf..."

Saying it aloud sounded almost ridiculous, so Dora let her words trail off there. Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest.

"More than just wolves in those trees." Mad-Eye cackled at the thought. "Didn't figure you would've. After all, takes a lot of courage to face the unknown like that. What the hell would a little girl know about that? You haven't even hit puberty yet."

Dora frowned down at her flat chest and thin, bony frame. It wasn't her fault if she was still growing.

"I'm not a coward, you know," she said, resisting the urge to stick her lip out and pout.

"Sure you're not, kid."

"I'm not!"

Even though her words never wavered, there was something in her that quivered. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, some part of her was terrified of what might happen if she should ever meet the wolf face-to-face.

...oOo...

A sad, drawn-out howl lingered over the cabin—far too close for comfort—but Tonks didn't flinch. She had learned after the first several times that Mad-Eye's sharp, insulting words stung much more than pretending not to notice. She still couldn't remember how she had known him, but there were latent feelings there that made her seek his respect. Dad said that remembering was a slow process, though he never said what made her forget in the first place.

"Why does the wolf never howl at night?" she asked when the noise finally stopped.

"How the hell should I know?" Mad-Eye was nursing the last fifth of his bottle, though Tonks wasn't sure where he'd gotten it from. He had one every day she came to visit, so she figured he must have had a stock hidden somewhere in his house. "Maybe at night he forgets he's a wolf."

"That doesn't even make sense. What else would he be?"

"Isn't it time you be going, Tonks?"

The sun had only just passed its peak—far too early to be time to head home, but Tonks could tell when she wasn't wanted. After all, she had spent days now visiting the crazy, old coot and listening to his tales of adventure and danger, feeling very much a part of every tale. She always knew he'd need a break at some point.

"Fine," she said as she stood, brushing slivers of wood from her thigh-length dress. Her hair, now green ringlets, was just above her shoulders, but she still managed to flip it indignantly as she jumped down from the porch.

Mad-Eye grunted a farewell as she left, dragging her feet back down the dirt path with the woods on her right now. There had been nothing following her all day, and she was surprised to find that she almost missed the familiar tingle that crept down her spine. It was better, almost—almost—than the overbearing loneliness of walking this path alone.

When she was halfway home, the brush started to rustle. Always several yards ahead of her, always deep enough in shadow to mask whatever it was. But she had no doubts. The wolf was back. Tonks held her breath and began to walk faster. Maybe if she pretended it didn't exist...

But then it started to cry. Low, soft sounds at first, easily mistaken for a growl, and growing higher as it shed its guttural tones. It was a heartbreaking, haunting melody that instantly dissolved Tonks' fear and, without rhyme or reason, seemed to dig deep furrows in her heart. She didn't even notice she had started to cry until the first tear dripped off her chin and onto her hand.

Mustering her courage, she approached the edge of the forest, poking her head into the darkness between the trees. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they did, she was greeted by the hunched over form of a wolf leaning against a tree. It stopped crying as she entered the trees—first one step, then another, one foot in front of the other.

There was blood staining its ashen fur, spilling out from around a vicious-looking steel trap clamped to its hind leg.

"You're hurt," she whispered, holding her hand out in what she hoped would be a sign of peace. "I can help."

Tonks stared into intense, hazel eyes—familiar, in a way. Certainly not the eyes of a wolf. They seemed to understand, and it didn't shy as she knelt down beside it. The wolf whimpered as she started to pry it open, and she hesitated. In the end, she decided that sometimes freedom was worth the pain. With all of her strength, Tonks forced it apart, and the wolf was able to slip out.

It walked a few steps and paused to look back at her, igniting something in her memory. It was there, the secret to all of her confusion. Tonks could feel it festering in the back of her mind, not quite breaking the surface. Something was hidden in those emerald eyes. Something worth the danger.

"Wait!" she called out as the wolf turned tail and limped into the trees, but it was already lost in the bowels of the forest.

She could let it go. Perhaps, even, she should let it go, after she had spent so much time avoiding it. But something told her that the wolf was still in danger, and she had to save it. More than that, she wanted to save it. She was still terrified, but she was determined that the fear wouldn't hold her back. After all, she was the daughter of Andromeda Black—the woman who forsook her family for love—and Ted Tonks—the Muggleborn who didn't realize he wasn't supposed to marry a Pureblood. Courage was in her blood.

As she took her first step into the darkness of the forest, Tonks' hair turned cotton-candy pink.

...oOo...

There was no sign of the wolf. She was alone in a foreign world, surrounded by the noises of creatures she couldn't even begin to imagine.

How much time had passed? An hour ago? Three? It was hard to tell, and the trees obscured the sun. Still, Tonks refused to give up the search. Even if Mad-Eye doubted it, she knew she was strong. It didn't mean she was fearless, made evident with the way her hands shook as she pushed aside the foliage, but she was determined.

Shadows started to move around her, and anxiety blossomed in her breast like a contagion, destroying her from the inside. The deeper into the forest she went, the more solid they became, almost humanoid in appearance. She was careful to avoid bumping into them, though they didn't seem to notice her at all, and she didn't have time to focus on them. She had to find the wolf.

A large, black dog stepped into her path, and Tonks hesitated. It didn't move toward her, though, and the gray eyes looked insistent and pleading, so when it turned and darted into the trees, she followed closely behind it. The dog stopped at the edge of a clearing, and in the waning sunlight, Tonks could see the silhouette of the wolf just beyond.

But there was something else, something that made her breath hitch in her throat. An ominous shadow was bearing down on it, wand in hand, cackling madly. Everything came back at once.

Panic. Fear. Colors flashing. Heart pumping. I'm going to die. Someone's screaming. Someone's laughing. Terror. Pain.

If she didn't act, the wolf would die.

Without hesitation, she threw herself in front of it, and the darkness swallowed her as the spell hit her square in the chest.

...oOo...

"Dora?"

The voice sounded familiar and warm, even through the haze that filled her mind.

"Everything's alright now, Dora, but it's time to get up."

Dried leaves crackled in protest as strong arms enveloped her, pulling her tightly against his chest. Dora opened one eye reluctantly, despite the throbbing in her head, to find watery, green eyes looking down at her.

"Remus?"

He smiled as he nodded, laughing as the first tear escaped and rolled down his face.

"I told you I'd find you, you stubborn, foolish woman."

"You were right. I-I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

"But you have, time and time again."

As she looked up into that familiar face, everything became clear. It was never the wolf that frightened her. What she truly feared was the possibility of losing him all over again.