A week later, Tonks hadn't said a word to Penelope.

She'd spoken to Remus, though, which Penelope found dreadfully unfair. "I think you should talk to her," Remus said, when she mentioned it to him. "You can't expect her to do all the work, can you?"

"Is it work to pretend that I don't exist?" she grumbled. But in the end she admitted that Remus was right; she did need to talk to Tonks.

Penelope found her in the kitchen one evening, bent over some reports that must have been for the Ministry. "Can we talk?" Tonks didn't reply, even after a few seconds, so she just sighed and jumped right in. "Look, I don't want you to hate me."

Tonks didn't look up. "I don't hate you, Penelope. But do I have to be your best friend, now?" She sighed heavily. "I just don't have the energy for this."

Penelope didn't much care what Tonks had the energy for; that was just a weak excuse, and anyway, this was more important. "Did you love him?"

"Still do," she murmured. "I probably always will."

"Did you, when you and I were…?"

Tonks nodded. "I did. But when it comes down to it, so did you. I suppose that's why we got on so well."

Penelope resisted the urge to mention that they hadn't got on very well at all, since she'd really only been a replacement for Remus. In all honesty, though, Tonks had been the same thing to her, and it probably was why they'd got on so well at the beginning. "I suppose so," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I—"

"It's not your fault," she interrupted, her tone far gentler than Penelope had expected. "I should really know better by now. Aurors aren't supposed to be so naïve."

"If you're looking for sympathy, you won't find it from me." She hadn't meant it with any venom, and although it sounded harsh in her own ears, Tonks didn't seem to pick up on it. "I know you, Tonks, and I know you're not naïve. And so does Remus."

"We could do without bringing Remus' opinions into this, I think," Tonks muttered.

"Fair enough. But I thought you should know that we don't think any less of you for…well, for anything."

"And I think you should know that he's a werewolf," Tonks shot back.

Penelope blinked. "Is there anyone who doesn't already know that?"

She sighed. "You know what I mean, Penelope."

Actually, Penelope didn't know what she meant—and judging by the way Tonks had bent over her parchment again, there wouldn't be a point in asking her to elaborate. She was lucky enough to have survived a simple conversation, she decided, as she attempted to sneak away unnoticed.

"You're lucky to have each other, you know. Do me a favor and try to remember that."

Penelope, who'd turned around the instant Tonks spoke, stared at the other woman for a few seconds before she smiled hesitantly. Thankfully, Tonks did the same, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you," she murmured. "I hope I never forget it."

"So you and Tonks are speaking again?" Remus asked later that night, as they lay in bed. Actually, just he lay in bed; Penelope was still bustling about the room, not having slowed down enough to even think about sleeping, it seemed. "Looked like you'd almost made up, earlier."

"Well, I don't know about that, it's certainly a start," Penelope replied, as she combed her wet hair in front of the mirror. "I think she's still a bit hurt, but she'll get past that."

"Of course she will," he said. "We all do, sooner or later."

Penelope nodded, then turned from the mirror and grinned at him. "Oh, and she thinks it's important that I know you're a werewolf."

Remus didn't laugh, but he couldn't help smiling. "Have you somehow managed to miss that fact for three years?"

"Apparently so." She walked the few steps to the bed and sat beside him, looking down at her folded hands. "I think she's right, though—I mean, in making me think about it. Don't you?"

"Possibly," he murmured, privately wishing he didn't have to have this conversation. "I know we haven't discussed the reality of the situation, but the reality is that once a month, I become a werewolf. And if that frightens you—"

"I wouldn't be here now, if it did," she interrupted softly, inching a bit closer as she looked up at him. "I just thought—well, it's an important issue, isn't it?"

He smiled wryly. "Too important, sometimes. I wish I could give you a normal relationship, but…"

"You told me once that there were no normal relationships."

"Well, I was right," he said, giving her a genuine smile this time. "This one's just a bit less normal than most."

That Saturday, Oliver turned up at number twelve, Grimmauld Place and somehow managed to convince Penelope to accompany him to Hogsmeade. Next to Remus, there was no one she'd rather have as an escort, so her first real trip outside since the attack wasn't nearly as frightening as she'd expected.

"So," he said, over red currant rum at the Three Broomsticks, "Remus Lupin, eh? Can't say I'm the least bit surprised about that."

"You wouldn't be," she muttered. "Haven't you been on about this for months?"

He laughed. "I'm smarter than you give me credit for. There's more than just Quidditch in this brain, if you can believe it."

"Of course I can believe it, you prat."

"And now that we've got the obligatory name-calling out of the way…" His smile faded as he gazed at her. "Are you serious about this, Penelope?"

"Of course I'm serious," she replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "Well, aside from the obvious—"

"You mean that he's a werewolf?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice down. "That's the least of my concerns, Oliver. And yes, we've discussed it," she added, seeing the question already beginning to form on his lips. "We decided—I decided—that the benefits outweigh the risk."

"Do your parents know?"

"What is this, the bloody inquisition?" She sighed. "They know what they need to know." Truth be told, she hadn't had much contact with her parents since before the attack on the Informer. But they hadn't made much effort with her, either. "I'll visit them for Christmas, anyway, so I suppose I'll tell them then."

"I thought you and Lupin would—"

"Full moon's Christmas Eve," she reminded him, and he nodded soberly. "I'm spending the night with my parents, and Christmas morning, so if it goes the way I expect…"

"If all goes the way you expect, you'll be back for lunch with us," he said. She hadn't known he'd planned to be there, and apparently it showed on her face, because he continued almost immediately. "Mum thinks I should avoid the family celebration this year, so it looks like I'm stuck with you lot." But he grinned as he spoke, so it clearly wasn't all bad. "D'you think Lupin will make it out, or…?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "He's not planning on it, so there's no point in expecting otherwise, is there?" She laughed softly. "I told him it's an awful way to spend our first Christmas together, but if it's a choice between him and Christmas…"

Oliver shook his head, smiling bemusedly. "You really are in love, aren't you?"

Christmas approached faster than Penelope had expected, and before she knew it, she found herself lying in bed the night before Christmas Eve, with Remus asleep beside her. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately, but she hadn't even been able to close her eyes—probably because she was a bit nervous about visiting her parents in the morning, she decided. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over Remus's cheek; he stirred but didn't awaken, and she slid silently out of bed.

Once again, Remus's robes were the only ones she could find, and she slipped into them without a second thought. No one would be awake at that hour anyway, she decided, padding in bare feet downstairs to the kitchen.

And no one was awake, thankfully, so she quietly fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat at the dark table. The first sip sent a calming warmth all the way down to her toes, and she sighed softly.

"Penelope?"

Her gaze snapped up and fell almost immediately on the boy in the doorway. "Harry. Did I wake you?"

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled, sliding onto the bench across from her. "Is that hot chocolate?"

"Yeah. Would you like some?"

He nodded, and she busied herself making the drink, every now and then casting a glance in his direction. He looked older, less carefree than the child she'd known not so long ago. But she supposed that was to be expected, given everything he'd had to endure.

"Thanks," he murmured, as she set a steaming mug down in front of him. A second's pause, and then, "So you and Lupin are…?"

Penelope nodded. "I hope that's all right by you."

"Would it matter if it wasn't?"

"I think it would," she said softly. "You know how much Remus cares for you, Harry. He wouldn't want to do anything that made you uncomfortable—and neither would I."

"But you hardly know me. Why would you—"

"I know how it feels to lose someone you love," she interrupted gently, and he seemed to accept that. He didn't object, at least. "If there's ever anything that concerns you—"

"I know," Harry said shortly. He sipped his hot chocolate. "I'll be fine."

"I'm glad to hear that." Penelope looked down at her mug, feeling a bit like a wicked stepmother. Or a wicked something, at least. But then she raised her eyes a bit, and he smiled weakly at her—and it didn't seem quite so awkward.

They sat in silence for a while, slowly sipping their hot chocolate, until soft footsteps on the stairs made Penelope look up. Remus smiled tiredly as he reached the last step, then looked at Harry just as the boy turned around. "Hello, Harry. Trouble sleeping?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll be all right. Penelope made me hot chocolate."

"Consider yourself lucky. I don't think she's ever made hot chocolate for me."

"But you don't like hot chocolate," she protested, as he took the seat beside her on the bench, not so subtly brushing his shoulder against hers.

"A minor detail. And I really don't see what that has to do with it." He took the mug from her hands and drank deeply, then pulled a face. "On second thought, I much prefer my chocolate in solid form. Must be my old age."

"You're not old!" Penelope exclaimed, and Harry echoed the sentiment. Penelope glanced at the boy, only to find him grinning shyly back at her; she smiled at him and swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. "Well, I suppose it's time I went back to bed," she said, barely pushing the words past the yawn that had suddenly consumed her. "I'll see you in the morning, Harry?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "Goodnight."

Her footsteps had hardly died away before Remus spoke. "Harry, I—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "No, it's all right. She's all right."

"She's not Sirius."

"You think I don't know that?" He drained the last drops of hot chocolate from his mug and pushed it aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Of course she's not Sirius; no one's ever going to be Sirius. And if she makes you happy, that's your business, not mine. But I like her, all the same."

If he sounded irritated, that was probably only because it was late—and he'd already been over it in some form with Penelope, Remus decided. He picked up the mugs and carried them to the sink. "I'm glad you're all right with this, Harry," he said, as he turned around. "I'd hate to think what might have happened if you weren't."

"So would I," said Harry. "I think she might love you."

Remus smiled. "I think I might love her, too."

Christmas dawned cold and clear, and Penelope, who'd told her parents about Remus the night before and had received a rather chilly response, barely stayed through breakfast before she wished them a happy holiday and returned to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The house was already alive with chatter and laughter, and Molly welcomed her immediately with an embrace that almost brought tears to her eyes. "I'm glad you're home, dear. Did you have breakfast with your parents? We've just finished, but if you're hungry…"

"Oh, thank you, but I ate with my parents," she replied. Actually, she hadn't so much eaten as stared uncomfortably at her plate for the duration of the meal, but Molly didn't need to know that. "I'm looking forward to lunch, though."

Everyone was looking forward to lunch, and with good reason; as more guests arrived, the atmosphere became even more festive, and for a few hours, it was almost as though they'd managed to erase the war altogether. Even Harry, who probably had the least to celebrate, spent the day in high spirits—outwardly, at least.

Penelope was sure he felt the twinges of sadness similar to the ones that struck her every now and then, and once, when he caught her eye over the crowd and smiled sadly, she was absolutely certain of it. Of course, when she looked more closely, she could see the sadness in everyone's smiles, but there was hardly a point in focusing on that, not when everyone else was striving so hard to make this a joyful holiday.

"Are you going to see him?" Tonks asked, as the festivities began to wind down in the early evening.

Penelope shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it, actually." That didn't mean she hadn't thought about Remus, of course; she just hadn't expected that he might want her to visit so soon. "Do you think I should?"

"Only if you want to. But no matter what Remus tells you, he doesn't like to be alone afterwards." She grinned, and it almost looked natural. "Only reason I'm telling you is because it's Christmas, of course."

"Of course," Penelope replied. Then, before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and threw her arms around Tonks's neck. "Thank you."

Tonks stiffened at first, but then she relaxed and hesitantly returned the embrace. "You're welcome," she whispered. "Take good care of him, Penelope."

There were a million things she could have said—a hundred things she probably should have said, but at that moment, as she pulled back and saw Tonks smiling through the tears in her eyes, there didn't seem to be any point. So she just smiled and nodded, and Tonks sniffled a little, and Penelope knew they'd said everything they needed to.

Now the only thing she really needed was Remus.

Remus had been asleep for most of the day, and even when he'd been awake, he'd been too exhausted to do anything other than yawn and spend a few seconds listening to the cheerful voices downstairs before falling asleep again. It was the same every full moon, the sheer exhaustion of it all, and if it hadn't been Christmas he wouldn't have given a moment's attention to the voices. But it was Christmas, so he listened—not with any envy, since it was his own choice to remain in bed, but rather with a tired sort of happiness that they'd all managed to remain so cheerful.

It wasn't until evening—at least, he assumed it was evening, due to the low volume of voices in the rest of the house—that he thought he heard the door open and close again. He blinked and gazed through bleary eyes at the door, and—yes, there was a blur moving toward him in the darkness. "Penelope?"

She didn't reply, and for a moment he thought he'd imagined it all, but then he felt a gentle hand slide down his cheek, and her lips on his a second later. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly.

"You didn't," he lied, but he could feel her disbelieving gaze even in the darkness. "Well, you did, actually, but I've been sleeping all day. It's time I woke up."

"It's time you went back to sleep, you mean." She drew away from him, and he would have reached out for her if he'd had the energy to do so. But then he heard her robes fall to the floor, and a second later she slid into bed beside him. "We missed you today."

He yawned. "You enjoyed yourselves, from what I could hear."

"We did. But we missed you." He felt a hesitant hand slide over his shoulder, and then her head was against his chest, her hair falling everywhere. He inhaled deeply and smiled at the familiar scent of sage. "I missed you," she whispered.

"And I missed you," he replied softly. It took all the energy he could muster to slip his arms around her, but it was worth it just to have her sigh softly and press her body even more tightly to his. "Happy Christmas, Penelope."

He could hear her smile, even in the darkness. "Happy Christmas, Remus."