Author's Note: I decided to rewrite the two chapters I've done for Part Two, mostly because my writing has been bloody awful lately, so...there you are. Let me know if it's better, or worse, or if I seem to be getting back on my feet. Feedback is what I live on.

part two

chapter one

aching

Nymphadora.

My imagination was playing infernal tricks on me again. I hated it deeply. Anger flared in my chest, but not enough to pull me from beneath the next of mussed blankets I was piled under. Keeping my eyes shut tightly, I sniffed haughtily and buried my nose back into the blankets. There was the slightly mothball-ish smell about them currently, as though they hadn't been slept in for a while. It was true, really. These had been dug out of the recesses that were the black hole in my closet. I was too tired and too irritated to wash the other ones.

Too old, too poor, too dangerous.

"Shut up," I said aloud, my voice angry and cracked from sleep. "Shut the bloody hell up and go away."

Nymphadora…

The last traces of the dream fell away, and I was fully awake, cursing my consciousness. I wanted to stay in the borderland between dreaming and life forever. With a long-suffering sigh, I sat up and ran a hand through my tangled, mouse-brown hair, lifting a lock of it before my eyes. "Look at what you've done to me," I cursed angrily at the empty air. "You've got no right to turn me into myself again. What a…"

But I didn't finish the sentence, because the wrong words filled it in. Instead of bastard, or insufferable lunatic, the words that came to mind were noble, or caring, or insane but I like him that way. I stifled a snarl behind my clenched teeth and got out of bed. My room was a mess, things thrown this way and that. I was rarely here anymore, involving myself as much as I could with the Order and with keeping a low profile at work. It looked like a rat's nest.

Maybe I am a rat, I thought venomously, lashing out to kick the dresser suddenly. The mirror atop it shrieked and fell silent when I through it a death glare, now limping due to the pain in my foot. Huffing, I grabbed clothes from the dresser draws – they were all thrown in pell-mell, but I didn't care – and glanced at the Muggle alarm clock that still sat resolutely on the dresser. It was barely 3:31 in the morning, but I was suddenly too full of restless energy to sleep. I dressed quickly in Muggle clothes, intending to set out for a walk.

When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I stopped for a second and stared. Truthfully, for a month or so now, I hadn't really looked in a mirror. I hated my natural features and wanted to kill Remus – Lupin – for hurting me so badly that I couldn't even morph. My skin was pale, my hair a dead, mousy brown, tangled from sleep and rather limp. I was thin, but that wasn't exactly natural, merely an after-effect of the loss of Molly's cooking. I avoided Grimmauld Place, and the Burrow, in times of late. She was sending owl after owl out to have me for dinner, but unless there was a function I was really needed for, I preferred not to be there.

Remus might be there.

I stilled at the thought of his name, my anger and restlessness all vanishing in one fell swoop. With seemingly damaged movements I ran a hand over my features, the face that I hadn't looked at properly for years now. This isn't me, I told myself, my anger resurfacing as suddenly as it had gone. And he can bloody well go to Hell for turning me into this mess.

My eye caught the teddy bear in the corner, obviously thrown there in one of my bouts of rage last night. I was terribly moody lately, and the bear, though I couldn't get rid of it, reminded me of him so unavoidably. Now, though, I stooped down and picked it up, cradling it in my arms. "I'm sorry," I whispered to it, feeling somewhat foolish that I was talking to a stuffed bear. "It's not your fault." I placed it on the bed and tugged the empty candy bag out of its hold. A piece of paper trapped behind the bag fluttered to the bedcovers. I hesitated, wondering if I really wanted to read it. It could be a receipt, or something that had gotten lodged there when it was thrown, but somehow I knew it was a note I'd never read.

Instead of suffering the agony (and possibly taking out my anger on the letter by ripping it up) I snatched up the note and put it in my pocket. My lonely first name was written in his neat, legible writing on the front. It hurt me even to look at that. More than hurt me; it made me angry, more than I was already.

I glanced at the clock. 3:42 a.m. Perfect time for a restless stroll. I threw on a sweatshirt to avoid attracting stares from the none-magical folk, slipped my wand into the waistband of my jeans (I didn't care what Mad-Eye said about elementary wand safety), and set off out the door of my small flat after running a brush through my mouse-brown hair.

It was misty in London at the present. It reflected my gloom in a big way, but I would have preferred a thunderstorm. Better expression of irritation. Through the thin fabric of the sweatshirt, I shivered. It was drizzly and foggy, and even that was making me more angry.

My feet automatically trod the path to my favourite park. It was probably a mile away. I was slightly numb by the time I'd gotten there, my clothes and hair somewhat damp from the chill. I sat down in my favourite swing and stared at the ground beneath my feet, not only wishing for Remus Lupin, but missing Sirius Black.

Oh, Sirius.

"Dammit, Sirius," I said aloud, the anger in my voice cutting through the fog. "Why'd you have to die?"

Not my place to judge things like that…

What a load of crap. Of course it was my place to judge things like that. He was my cousin, after all. And…the way his death had killed Remus…I gritted my teeth. Don't think about that, I told myself silently. Don't think about that. It's not like he didn't have that load of misery coming when he's being such a half-witted…

The words failed me again. He didn't deserve this. None of us did. I roughly brushed my hand over my eyes, swiping away the tears. I wasn't going to cry. Not again…

"Nymphadora Tonks."

I turned in my swing to see the handsome, cunning Sirius Black swinging slightly next to me. "Sirius?" I said in surprise, and quite a lot of happiness.

He smiled, a little. His face had transformed since his death, it seemed, reverting back to its younger, handsomer self, full of life even when he was not. "Yes, it's me," he said, wrapping a hand around the chain of the swing. "How are you doing?"

I thought it a queer question to ask, but went along with it. "Alright, I guess…"

He glanced up at me and looked surprised. "What've you done with your hair? It that what you really look like?"

"Yes," I said, glancing at the ground, thinking again of Remus.

"Um, Tonks," he said, his voice serious, but I heard a hint of mirth. "If that's what you really look like, I, er, have no problem with you morphing…"

I made to hit him; he flinched back, still laughing. I couldn't help that my lips twitched in a slight smile, too, but it faded away again immediately. "I'm having trouble Metamorphosing," I told him, ashamed. "It's…it gives me a bloody headache, to be honest."

His brow furrowed, his laughter gone. "Why?" he asked. "Is it because of the battle? I've heard of trauma causing defects in your magic, but…"

I gritted my teeth. "It wasn't the battle."

Sirius looked at me, and in that one glance it was like he guessed it all. Maybe he could. He was dead, after all. Maybe he could read minds now. It was a frightening idea, but I entertained it nonetheless. "It's Moony, isn't it? He's decided he's…"

"Too old, too poor, too dangerous," I finished for him, my voice dying slightly, but then it raged up again. "He's your effing best friend! What the hell is he doing this to me for? I didn't…"

"He's scared, Tonks," he said quietly. "He's very…insecure, Moony. Doesn't want to hurt you."

"He's hurting me by the way he's acting now!" I began hotly, but he silenced me with a look.

"Have patience."

"This advice from Sirius Black?" I laughed, bitterly, my emotions suddenly swamping me. "So careful, weren't you? No, you had to be an idiot and go after Bellatrix and act cocky…"

His face coloured angrily, and he leapt to his feet. I followed suit. "Do you think I wanted to die, Tonks? I have a godson who still needs me, a best friend who's acting like a bleeding idiot, and a cousin who can't morph anymore! Did you ever think that maybe it was an accident?"

"You don't understand!" I cried, my voice echoing strangely through the fog. "It's my fault you're dead! If I'd finished her…if I'd been stronger…you'd still be alive!"

He stared at me for a second, and it seemed that the handsome youth he'd reacquired faded, and the gaunt face of the man from Azkaban had resurfaced. Gruffly, he said, "Come here," and I came, tears streaking down my pale face, and he pulled me into his arms.

"And now Remus," I sobbed angrily into his shirt, not even noticing that it wasn't getting wet, "Remus won't…I haven't seen him since I was in St. Mungo's…Sirius, what if he never comes around? I don't want him to be alone for the rest of his life, I…"

"You want him to be happy." His voice was quieter. "That's what we've all wanted for him, all along. He just can't imagine that he deserves happiness. But he has to come around eventually, now. He has you, Tonks. He has you and he'd be a bloody idiot if he doesn't face up to what things are soon."

I fell silent, not for lack of things to say, but for lack of ways to say them.

"Tonks."

I pulled away slightly to look up at him. His hardened face stared toward me, his black eyes so full of life and remorse at the same time. How I wished that he was alive again. How I wished that he hadn't left Remus…so alone, as the last Marauder. Well, what I considered to be the last Marauder. "Give him time," he said quietly. "He can't hide forever. He'll realize eventually, you'll see."

Weakly, I nodded. Sirius turned suddenly, as though he'd heard something. "What is it?" I asked.

"I have to go. Time's up. See you when you get here, Tonks, but…it'll be a while." He smiled at me.

"Sirius…?"

"No, Nymphadora, it's me. Remus."

I jerked fully awake. I was still sitting in that ridiculous swing. I must've fallen asleep, I thought groggily, squinting up to look into Remus's kind, concerned features. He looked rather worn out; almost without thinking I calculated the days to full moon. It had been the night before last. That would explain his tired features.

"It's day after full moon, Remus, what are you doing here?" I yawned, turning my face back toward the chain of the swing so that I could rest my head against it. Irritated suddenly when I realized my face was moist, I wiped off my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

He flinched when I mentioned the full moon and sat down in the swing next to mine, where I'd seen Sirius sitting only a moment before. I blinked; my eyes were suddenly filled with tears again. I glanced away, closing my eyes, fighting off the wave of pain and anger that washed over me. "Were you dreaming?" Remus's voice asked, seemingly from a long distance.

"Yes," I mumbled. "About…Sirius."

Silence greeted my announcement. "Sorry," I said quietly, as an afterthought, cursing myself for my blunder.

When I opened my eyes again, his arm had curled around the chain of his swing, and he was staring at the ground, his eyes hardening steadily as his features did; there it came again, the tortured marauder's attempt to put his heartache behind him. "Remus?" I asked quietly.

With every effort to tear himself away from the sorrow, he turned to look at me without a word, his piercing, blue-grey eyes spearing mine. I sighed, shook my head, and looked away. "I'm sorry, about Sirius," I said finally. "You must feel…abandoned."

He cleared his throat. "Far from it." Before I'd even considered the intricacies of this statement, he'd risen to his feet. "I should be going. You'll be all right getting home on your own?"

I looked up at him, mourning clawing at my heart, and then I blinked and looked away, trying to fight the tears. There would have been a time, not so long ago, when he would have accompanied me without asking, when our dialogue would not have been pre-planned, when my answer would not always be, No, I'm fine, even if I wasn't. I merely shook my head, unable to respond. He nodded, said, "Goodnight, Nymphadora," and vanished into the mist.

I clenched the chain of the swing and tried not to let my mind linger on him, but it was impossible. After the conversation we'd had only days before, he was all I could ever think of. It wasn't a good thing, not anymore.