Life with Sirius was just what life with Sirius should have been, what Remus had always wanted it to be. Aside from the very pressing urgency of Voldemort and the claustrophobic atmosphere of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, it was just they way he'd expected; at home with Sirius it was all sunshine and laughter and love, with Sirius dreaming up crazy schemes and Remus pulling him back down to earth.

The book was one of those crazy schemes, although it was Remus who'd started that. He'd been working on it for the past year, as employment was especially scarce for a known werewolf, and he'd had little else with which to occupy his time. It was finished, now, and it was good, but he'd never given more than a passing thought to publishing it.

Sirius had sent the owls, attaching samples of the manuscript to letters addressed to a dozen publishers. Ten rejected it immediately, and Remus promptly forgot that the book had ever existed.

In November, after the full moon, he vaguely remembered Sirius shoving a stack of parchment into his hands. Remus, still in a stupor owing to the after-effects of the Wolfsbane Potion, had signed it without even bothering to read it, and he'd never thought to ask after it later.

He never gave it a second thought, in fact, until after the New Year, when he returned to number twelve, Grimmauld Place after a late night guarding the corridor at the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius met him downstairs for a cup of tea and said, "Don't forget your meeting tomorrow."

Remus stopped, the teacup inches from his lips. "Meeting?"

"Don't be daft, Remus. You have a meeting at Dust and Mildewe, tomorrow afternoon. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

He hadn't forgotten, technically, because he'd never known it in the first place. "What does Dust and Mildewe want with me?"

"Are you serious?" He looked as if he might explode. "They want to publish the book, Remus! You've already signed the contract—back in November, remember?'

So that was what he'd signed. Typical Sirius, always waiting until Remus was at his least competent. "So what if I don't want to publish it?"

"Of course you want to publish it!" Sirius exclaimed, and Remus had a feeling that if it hadn't been quite so late, Sirius might have vaulted over the table and tackled him. "You've been jobless since you left Hogwarts, and you won't let me support you. The least you could do is buy yourself some new robes."

It seemed to Remus a frivolous reason to publish a book, but Sirius already had that gleam in his eye, and he knew that gleam meant that Sirius would not be distracted from this scheme. And it was that reason, more than anything else, that made him agree to the meeting.

Penelope had been working at Dust and Mildewe for three months when the manuscript landed on her desk, accompanied by a note from Landon Davies. This manuscript belongs to a very good friend of mine, it read. Please take extra care with it.

Notes from the boss were rare, already, and notes requesting a new editor to work on the manuscript of a "very good friend" were even rarer. Penelope was thrown enough by the request that she never thought to look at the book's author, nor did she stop to consider how many people—and how many friends of Landon Davies, rumored ally of Dumbledore—could write a legitimate, well-researched Defense Against the Dark Arts text.

So it was a surprise when, one Thursday morning, Remus Lupin walked into Dust and Mildewe—and then into Penelope's office. "Ah, Miss Clearwater," he said, as she rose to greet him. "It's lovely to see you again."

"And you, Professor," she murmured.

He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten me."

She remembered him, of course, and not solely as that Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who'd turned out to be a werewolf. She remembered his knowledge, and his teaching practices, and the fact that he'd been the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor she'd had in her seven years at Hogwarts. And she remembered that she'd often felt too inferior to even talk to him.

That was how she felt at Dust and Mildewe—she, not even twenty years old, couldn't possibly hold court with someone like Remus Lupin. True, he'd been forced to resign from his last job, and as a werewolf, he generally wasn't accepted in most polite society. But as a Muggle-born, she wasn't exactly high society, and she'd destroyed her first career just as effectively as someone else had destroyed his last.

Still, it shocked her when he spoke to her as an equal.

"Good morning, Miss Clearwater," he'd say quietly, when he reached her office each day, and she'd inevitably stare dumbly at him for a few seconds before she remembered to speak.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin," she'd finally reply, never remembering to call him Remus, as he'd once requested—or more appropriately, never feeling comfortable enough to call him by his first name.

He'd stare at her for just a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat. "Right, then. Where do we start today?"

It was a safe, stable routine they'd fallen into, and both of them found some sort of comfort in the familiar exchange of words. They were both creatures of habit, after all, and any routine, even a slightly awkward one, was a benefit.

Remus, for his part, never noticed Penelope's awkwardness—if it could even appropriately be called awkwardness. She moved and spoke with such a quiet, fluid grace that he'd have been hard-pressed to find anything awkward about her. Not that he was looking for awkwardness, of course; he was much more interested in determining why, exactly, Davies had given him this editor.

She was young, yes, and she'd worked for the Ministry, but she was brilliant, and she'd had enough wits about her to get out of the Ministry while she still could. He remembered her as an exceptional student in his NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts course, and it seemed that she remembered him, as well—and not simply as the poor teacher in the shabby robes who'd turned out to be a werewolf.

Penelope was a breath of fresh air, to be certain, but he didn't allow himself to think of her as more than that.

Three weeks after Remus had first walked into Penelope's office, the full moon returned.

Although they'd never actually discussed it, Penelope had assumed that the editing process would simply come to a halt for a few days, so it was a bit of a surprise when a young woman with short platinum hair wandered into her office and asked for Remus Lupin's editor.

"That's me," Penelope replied, half-rising from her chair as she extended a hand for the woman to shake. "Penelope Clearwater."

"Tonks. Pleasure to meet you; Remus has told me so much about you."

Well, that was a surprise, and judging by the unmasked adoration in the woman's eyes, she expected a similar response. "And you—you work with him?"

"In a manner of speaking," Tonks replied vaguely. Then she leaned back in her chair and propped combat-booted feet up on the edge of the desk; Penelope just barely restrained herself from commenting. "Bloody miserable job, most days, but the company's excellent."

"I can imagine," Penelope murmured. "Now, should we—"

Before she could finish, Tonks toppled over with a small cry. She slid out of her fallen chair and grinned up at Penelope's shocked face. "Sorry—bit clumsy. Surprised no one's told you."

"Oh…well..." How exactly was she supposed to say that Remus had never once mentioned Tonks? "I—er. We don't talk much about…well, about anything that's not the book, really."

It was an outright lie—in the past week alone, they'd discussed literature, history, their families, and why Penelope would never return to the Ministry—but Tonks seemed to buy it. "The book! Almost forgot. Remus sent his revisions of Chapter Three—" She broke off and shoved her hand into one of the outer pockets of her robes. "No, not there…I know I had—ah! There it is!" she exclaimed, producing the parchment from somewhere inside her robes. "There you are, Clearwater. And do have a lovely day."

And with that, she Disapparated, leaving a mildly confused Penelope staring the chair Tonks had just vacated. "What an odd woman," she murmured as she reached for the manuscript.

"I think Tonks is shagging your editor," Sirius mused over dinner one night.

Remus choked on his wine. "You think what?"

"Well, if she'd not, she ought to be. Never seen her so lovestruck." He drained his own wine glass. "And all this time, I thought she fancied you."

That was certainly a surprise, as Remus had never thought himself the type to be fancied by—well, by anyone besides Sirius, really. Even more surprising, though, was Sirius's first announcement. "You think Tonks is shagging Penelope, you said?"

Sirius laughed, a bit too harshly to be considered fully natural. "Penelope, is it now? I thought it was just a business relationship." He shrugged. "Not that I'd know otherwise, since you never tell me about your meetings."

"Well, I—" Remus stopped abruptly as he realized that he never did tell Sirius about his meetings. That seemed a bit odd, really, because Sirius was the reason he's gone to Dust and Mildewe in the first place.

But when it came down to it, Penelope was the reason he'd stayed.

"I remember you," Tonks said, when she visited Penelope's office in March. "Used to work in Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you? Kingsley wanted you to apply for Auror."

Penelope nodded. "He did."

"I reckon you'd have done well enough," she mused. "Why'd you leave, then?"

Why had she left? It seemed so long ago, now, a distant memory of a long forgotten past. "I suppose…well, it all came down to the fact that I wasn't happy."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that work's not about being happy?"

"Of course they did," she replied. "I just didn't believe them, that's all."

Tonks grinned. "Smart girl. No wonder you left the Ministry; you're too good for them."

"You're still there."

"I'm a special case. All of us are." Penelope knew, through a few conversations with Remus, that "all of us" meant the members of the Order of the Phoenix, but she didn't have time to remark on that before Tonks gasped. "Reminds me—I'm supposed to be at the Ministry now. Mind if I use your fireplace?"

Penelope shook her head, motioning to the small jar of Floo powder on her desk, which Tonks narrowly avoided toppling as she took a handful. She quickly shoved it toward Penelope, who placed a protective hand over the jar, smiling at the Auror. "So I'll see you next month, then?"

"Suppose so." She stopped in front of the fireplace and turned back to Penelope. "Unless…well, that is…"

"Yes?" Penelope asked, as Tonks trailed off hopelessly.

"D'you want to—I don't know, have a drink after work, maybe?"

She smiled. "I'd love to."

"You fancy him," Oliver said, when she met him for lunch that day. "Professor Lupin. Don't you?"

Penelope dropped her fork. "I—what? Don't be ridiculous, Oliver. He used to be our professor."

"Well, he's not anymore," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, that never stopped any of you with Lockhart, did it?"

"That's not the bloody point, is it? The point is, I don't fancy Remus Lupin." Maybe if she said it a few more time, even she would believe it. "What makes you say that, anyway?"

"You haven't let go of that manuscript since you walked in," he replied, motioning to the parchment she'd placed carefully in her lap. "My best guess is that you fancy someone connected to it, and if it's not Lupin, all that's left is that Auror who—" He stopped abruptly, the grin already in full force. "Penelope…"

"What?" she asked, in a miserable attempt at innocence. "It's not what you think."

No, but it is what I've dreamed."

"Oliver!" Her face grew hot, and she knew she was blushing. "Some days, I just don't know what to do with you."

"Well, if you don't know whether to kiss me or kill me—I'd say to save that kiss for your Auror, when you meet her from drinks tonight."

"How'd you…"

"It's written on your hand," he replied with a grin. "Now, I hate to run off on you, but we've got team photos this afternoon, and I'm…well, sort of essential to that. You have fun with your Auror tonight, and be safe."

"Goodbye, Oliver," she murmured, as he kissed her forehead, dropped a small pile of Galleons on the table, and left. No point in arguing that she didn't fancy Tonks, she decided. It was safer than saying she fancy Remus—because, of course, she didn't fancy Remus—and Oliver had already made up his mind, anyway. And Tonks was…well, Tonks, all smiles, and ever-changing appearances, and an endearing sort of clumsiness. And Penelope liked her, genuinely liked her.

She just wasn't sure if it was more than that.

And then, suddenly, it was more than that, and although neither of them could say exactly how it had happened, they could both trace it back to that night at the Three Broomsticks.

Penelope had no idea how a few drinks at a wholly reputable establishment had led to the nearly constant presence of pink hair on her pillows and Weird Sisters t-shirts strewn about her flat, but the change wasn't entirely unwelcome. More often than not, the pink hair was attached to Tonks, and Tonks had a way of brightening a room to the point that Penelope almost didn't mind the clutter.

True, most nights she went to bed alone, but that was only because Tonks had work to do for the Order—and besides, she almost always woke up in Tonks's arms. And oddly—or perhaps not so oddly—the Auror's embrace was more secure, more right than those of the men who'd previously shared her bed.

Penelope wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but she rather liked it, all the same.

"Where're you off to?" Tonks asked groggily, as Penelope slid out of bed one morning.

"I've got work," she replied, laughing softly as Tonks rolled over and sprawled across the entire bed. "And so have you, in case you've forgotten."

"Haven't forgotten," Tonks mumbled, her face smashed against the pillow. "Long night last night. You understand."

Actually, Penelope didn't understand. "I might, if I had missions to run for the Order. I don't suppose they've rethought their decision, have they?"

"Who said it was their bloody decision?"

"I thought it was their bloody decision. What, have you not even addressed it with the Order?"

"Not formally, no," she replied with a groan. "General consensus, though—it's too much for you right now. You'll be more valuable later rather than sooner."

"So I can't even be part of it?" Who cared that she was whining? This was far too important to not whine. "And who's part of this general consensus, anyway?"

Tonks sat up and looked her straight in the eye. "Remus Lupin. Now, will you be home for dinner, or do I have to eat by myself?"

"I'll…no, I'll be home," Penelope murmured, fumbling in her bureau for a presentable set of robes. She pulled them over her head, thankful for the momentary distraction that kept her from looking at Tonks.

Of course, she missed the small triumphant smile on the Auror's lips, but that was quite beside the point.

Remus didn't mean for it to happen, but one day he ran into Tonks in the upstairs hallway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and before he knew what he was doing, he'd cornered her. "What, exactly," he asked, "are you doing with Penelope?"

Tonks smirked. "When, exactly, did she become Penelope, Remus? And why, exactly, do you even care?"

He blinked at her. "Why shouldn't I care? She's my editor, and you're my friend, and…" And why should he care? Their relationship didn't affect him in the slightest, except for the fact that— "And what about the Order?"

"What about the Order?" she asked irritably. "It's no different than you and Sirius. And you can't tell me she's not trustworthy, Remus. You're the one who told her about the Order in the first place."

He didn't reply, mostly because he didn't know what to say, and she stared at him for a few seconds before quietly walking past him. Just as she reached the staircase, he spoke. "Why Penelope?"

He heard her stop, but he didn't turn to face her. "She's beautiful, Remus," she said softly, and he couldn't have argued if he'd wanted to. "And besides, who's to say I can't look at her that way, too?"

The accent she'd put on her words left him unsure whether "that way" had meant the way she looked at him or the way he looked at Penelope. But then—did he look at Penelope that way? And more importantly, why would he? She wasn't Sirius, or anything remotely resembling him. There was no possible way he—

"I suppose you don't care, then," Tonks said, and a second later he heard her heavy footfall on the stairs.

He didn't bother to correct her.

"It's a shame the Daily Prophet is absolute rubbish, isn't it?" Penelope asked one day, as she and Remus worked their way through Chapter Twelve.

Remus looked up in mild surprise, and she figured that was because while they often made small talk during their meetings, discussions of actual substance were rarer. "I'm sorry?" he murmured.

Or maybe it was simply that he hadn't heard her, she decided. "The Prophet. Awful shame it's become such a worthless rag."

"I suspect they've had trouble believing that Voldemort's returned. Can't fault them entirely, though, since the Ministry would rather ignore the obvious." He fell silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly. "If you're so dissatisfied, Miss Clearwater, why don't you do something bout it?"

She blinked. "Well, I've already cancelled my subscription, and—"

"I think you know that's not what I mean."

"I…well. How am I supposed to do anything, when I haven't got the resources?" Penelope sighed heavily, then waved her wand vaguely at the door, letting it latch before she continued. "It's not as though I can join the Order, you know. You don't know what I'd give—"

"And you don't know what I'd give to have you on our side," he interrupted softly. "But it's not my decision. Tonks doesn't think it's worth the risk."

"Does Tonks know I can make my own decisions? Does she know it's not fair to control me?"

"I think…I think it's not so much about control, really," he said thoughtfully. "She just doesn't want to see you get hurt. None of us do."

"So you don't want to see me hurt, then?"

"I can't say I'd particularly enjoy it, Miss Clearwater."

"And yet you'd have me join the Order, anyway?" She sighed helplessly. "Why can I never have a normal relationship?"

"There are no normal relationships, I'm afraid," he replied with a wry smile. "We've just got to find what best suits us at the moment."

"So this—Penelope, eh?" Sirius said one night, when a particularly large portion of the Order had gathered for dinner. "I rather think I'd like to meet her."

Remus choked on his pork chop. Across the table, Tonks did the same—but thankfully, she recovered quickly. "That's a terrible idea, Sirius. I reckon she still thinks you're a murderer."

Actually, Penelope didn't think anything of the sort; Remus had told her the real story weeks back, but he refrained from commenting on that. Sirius had already latched onto the idea, and he really didn't need the encouragement.

"Why shouldn't I meet my baby cousin's girlfriend?" Sirius asked loudly. Remus wondered idly if he'd been drinking. "She's important to you—and she's Remus's editor—so why shouldn't I meet her?"

"Aside from the fact that any sane person would run to the Ministry at the mere sight of you?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked. "Do you want to be sent back to Azkaban? Be reasonable, Sirius."

"I am reasonable," he said. "I think Tonks is trying to keep her from me."

"And what if I am?" Tonks asked. "Did it ever occur to that maybe I want to have something that's not tied to the Order?"

It would have been a reasonable excuse, were Penelope not already connected to so many members of the Order—and so many members seated around that table, to boot. As it was, not a soul believed her—not Molly, who shook her head reprovingly and began clearing the table; not Arthur, who buried his nose in the Daily Prophet; not Kingsley, who busied himself by wiping nonexistent scuff marks from his shoes. Remus, seated beside Sirius and directly across from Tonks, made no move whatsoever, which earned him a glare from Sirius and a pleading stare from Tonks. He suddenly found the sleeves of his robes very interesting, indeed, and proceeded to tune out the argument as well as he could.

And so Sirius and Tonks went round and round the same subject, and everyone else tried—and failed spectacularly—to ignore them, until Sirius leaned forward, a cruel smile on his lips. "But really, dear cousin," he said slowly. "I think we all know Penelope's just a poor substitute for Remus. Isn't she?"

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Tonks pushed away from the table and ran out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with the wall on her way to the door, and Remus was sure the tear streaming down her face hadn't been an illusion. "I think that was out of line," he said softly, carefully, as soon as Tonks's footsteps had died away.

Sirius exhaled, a quick puff of breath that said, plainly, that he didn't care. "What is it about her, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Penelope Clearwater," he replied, and the room fell silent again. This time, though, they'd all looked immediately at Remus, and Sirius smiled triumphantly. "Surely you can tell us, Remus."

Remus shrugged helplessly. "I—I don't know." And it was true; he didn't know, couldn't pinpoint what made her intriguing, and engaging, and absolutely irresistible. He only knew that she was. "I honestly have no idea, Sirius."

"You should," Sirius growled, and then he stomped off, once more leaving the room in an awkward, deafening silence.

Remus slept in his own room that night.

Penelope had just become absorbed in her book when a sobbing Tonks Apparated into her flat. "He—he said you're just a substitute," she blubbered, once Penelope had calmed her down a bit. "And I think…I think he might be right."

Penelope didn't ask who's made the observation, but that was less out of courtesy than it was because she already had a good suspicion. As for who she'd been replacing…well, that went hand in hand with the observer. "So what are we going to do?" she asked.

"What can we do?" Tonks blew her nose into a scrap of tissue. "Is there even a point, anymore?"

So it was over, just like that. Penelope had expected as much, sooner or later; they'd never been meant to last, anyway. It was bound to eventually come to an end, and now that it had…it didn't hurt nearly as much as she'd expected. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"I—" She broke off with another sob. "I don't think I want to be alone."

"You don't have to be alone," Penelope whispered, and then she took the other woman by the arm and led her to the bedroom. Tonks fell asleep almost immediately, and she slept peacefully—probably due to emotional exhaustion, Penelope figured.

Penelope herself lay awake for hours.

The fireplace in her office was more for convenience than luxury, but on mornings like that unseasonably cold and dreary Wednesday in May, Penelope couldn't help but appreciate the comfort of a cheerfully burning fire. She usually didn't give the fireplace much thought, unless she was actually using it, but that day the cold, damp air had wrought itself into her bones. Upon reaching her office after her early-morning errands, the first thing she did was kneel down before the fire, peeling off her cloak as she warmed her icy hands in the heat radiating from the flames.

And then the fire acquired a face.

Penelope shrieked and jumped away, moving so quickly that she lost her balance entirely and landed awkwardly on her right hip, her robes tangled about her legs. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and gaped at the face in the fireplace. "Sirius Black?"

"Good memory, I see. How long since my photo was last in the Prophet?" He grinned. "Or—wait, you'd have seen Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, eh? Law Enforcement was your department, before you escaped the Ministry?"

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, oddly less concerned by the fact that an escaped convict had found her fireplace than by the fact that said convict could be caught in her fireplace. "Someone could see you!"

Sirius laughed. "And who would patrol the Dust and Mildewe fireplaces? Landon Davies hasn't raised nearly enough suspicion for that." His expression hardened. "You'd feel safer if they were patrolled, I imagine. Can't be safe, having a convicted murderer in your fireplace."

"Oh, honestly. I know you're innocent," she snapped.

The next instant, she wished she hadn't. His expression closed off, becoming completely unreadable, and he laughed hollowly. "You know I'm innocent? What, a single word from Remus Lupin, and you forgot everything the Ministry led you to believe?"

She didn't answer—couldn't answer, really, because while it sounded completely ludicrous, that was exactly what had happened. Granted, it had been a few words rather than just one, but that was quite beside the point. The point was that, as Sirius had said, she believed Remus more readily than she'd ever believed the Ministry. And while her silence had already said volumes, she nonetheless felt compelled to change the subject. "What do you want from me, Mr. Black?"

"Remus. Is he all right, do you reckon?"

She blinked. "Rem—Professor Lupin? I think you'd be better equipped to answer that. I haven't seen him in days."

"Days?" His eyebrows had shot up momentarily, but he composed himself quickly. "So you've finished your editing?"

"Last week," she replied. "Didn't he tell you?"

"He'll tell me when he sees fit," he said gruffly. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course. It's…it's no trouble at all," she murmured, as his face faded from view. She stared at the fireplace for a moment longer before she straightened and crossed the office to her desk. "Well, that was…odd," she murmured, as she sat down and began to sort through her morning post.

"Penelope, are you in love with him?"

Sirius's second appearance in the fireplace came as less of a surprise—although the question he asked was enough to make her gasp. "I—what?"

"Right, just asking," he said brightly. Then, without another word, he disappeared, leaving her to wonder why he'd asked such a preposterous question.

But if it was so preposterous, why had he asked? And more importantly, why did she even care?

Six weeks to the day after Sirius and Remus had stopped speaking, Snape made contact with the Order, bringing the bone-chilling news that Harry had been lured to the Department of Mysteries.

"If he thinks I'm staying behind…" Sirius growled.

"You are staying behind," Kingsley said firmly. "Someone has to—"

Sirius slammed his palms down on the kitchen table, and both Tonks and Remus jumped. "I will not sit back and wait when Harry's in danger!"

Kingsley looked helplessly at Remus, who could only shrug. "There's no point in trying to stop him, you know. He'd just go anyway, and I can't say I'd blame him at all."

Sirius, for the first time in over a month, met Remus's gaze. "Thank you," he mouthed, and Remus smiled in return.

They didn't have time to talk, of course, but in the rush to leave number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius pulled Remus to him and kissed him roughly. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," Remus replied. "We'll talk about this later?"

Sirius grinned. "Couldn't stop me if you tried." He kissed Remus once more, and then he was gone, and Remus took just a second to smile stupidly to himself.

It wasn't perfectly all right yet, but it would be soon. And that was the best he could hope for.