A/N: All right! This is finally done. Sorry for the long, long break - my muse ran away and then when it came up we started having major internet problems.

Kudos to everybody who's read this, and a very, very big thank you to everyone who reviewed. Passes around choc-chip cookies

Here's to Remus and Tonks!

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

"Are you all right, dear? You look a bit… colourless, today." I smile at Molly, wishing that I had not met her as soon as I stepped into the doorway of No. 12. "I'm fine, Molly, I've just got a bit of a cold, I think." Sometimes I'm quite surprised at the extent of my acting skills – the cheerful, bright voice sickens me with its sincerity.

"All right then, dear." Molly bustles off with the high-speed efficiency and motherliness that characterises her. I go upstairs, and she goes down. I head for the loneliness of Remus' room which has half become mine in his absence, and she for the three members of her family assembled in the kitchen.

I can avoid mirrors. I can look away from shop windows. I can wash everything by feel, not sight. But there's no way around the truth Molly gave me – I'm colourless. And avoiding it makes it no better. My hair is his brown, my skin his sick paleness after a full moon, my eyes a darker shade of his amber-gold. I love being a metamorphmagus, being able to change myself. So what happens when I can't?

There's anger, there's confusion, and there is some degree of hate. A war brings all three of them, but I still go and add my own anyway. My mother was right - I could never time anything properly. It's the middle of a war, and I've lost my powers over the only man who could resist my particular brand of argument for months. The only person more stubborn than I am.

Somehow, I can survive. Living in the place where he constantly was, walking paths we once walked together. Now, doing everything we used to do as a couple alone. I mean, we never really had anything going… But it was a fact that whenever Remus had night duty, so did I; whenever it was the day of a full moon, I would be the one who would stay with him. Nobody ever thought that we were anything more than good friends, and that was pretty much the truth.

But there's no denying that we fit together so perfectly. Hang on… No, this is still me. I haven't turned into some sappy romantic love-sick puppy thing. Well, anyway, it's sort of like we're yin and yang. He's the quiet, upright gentleman, and I'm the weird, noisy girl. We're so different, but we click somehow… Actually, I take back what I said just then. I do seem to have turned into some sappy romantic love-sick puppy thing after all. Gah. No wonder he doesn't like me.

I really don't know why I'm doing this… If this had been one of the crushes I'd had at school, I would have breezed over it easily. Boys came and boys went back then, as quickly as mice run from Mad-Eye. Well, maybe not that quickly. There was one guy that lasted a whole week, actually. But he was nothing, I repeat – nothing – compared to Remus. Ah, maybe that's it. I seem to have put my finger on the problem. I can't get over it because I don't just like him, I love him.

Let's see… What did I look like the last relatively normal day we had together? I'm pretty sure that was a Thursday. And two months ago, Thursdays were my stripy hair days. Ooh, I think I remember. It was a row of red, then a row of blue, then one of red, then blue, then red, then blue, then a ring of gold around the edge. Yep, that's it. And I'd been so disgruntled at the new Auror policies that I'd decided to go partying Muggle style… Which means I was probably wearing blue dragon-hide cut-offs and a ripped, tie-dyed oxford shirt.

Tall, handsome, almost-middled aged greying man being tackled-hugged in the street by what could best be described as a colour explosion crossed with a tornado. Yep, we did get a few stares. He didn't seem to mind though… Until I knocked the two of us into a wall and almost gave him a concussion. Hang on; he didn't seem to have been angry then, either. Sigh. He's an angel. I can almost feel what could be described as the ancestor of happiness.

Wait… What's that? I can feel it again! I can… Oh, damn. It's gone again. But I could have sworn, the tips of my hair were almost noticeably pink this time… All these memories are doing me good, I think. Almost getting my powers to the threshold they'd been at when I was 3. Yep. Great going, dumbo. Eck. If Dawlish found out about my now unpredictable and uncontrollable changes, I'd be skinned. Then stuffed back into my hide, chucked to Scrimgeour, and skinned again. I love Kingsley.

No, not in that way. Well, not at all, actually. But I do owe him one. Or two. Or several million, as a matter of fact. He's an angel too. Oh, man… My life is just so completely stuffed up right now. I might as well jump through the veil and have it done with. At least Sirius has a sense of humour… No, I didn't mean that. I miss him a lot. Yes. I do. I just… Miss Remus more. Gah.

I wish I could hate him. I wish I could even just be a tiny smidgeon angry with him. Whoever said love swings to hate easily was a deluded loser who'd never felt either of those things. Come on, girl… Pull yourself together. Hang on a tic. Did I just ruffle my own hair? Sirius, begone. I miss you, I did not ask you to possess my hand. Oh, Merlin… Everything is just so completely, totally, utterly and inexplicably messed up all of a sudden.

There's a slight clamour downstairs. Not loud, just loud enough to pass into Remus' room at the back of the house, and also just loud enough to wake up the hag in the painting. FILTHY, DIRTY THING! UNWORTHY TRAITOR! ANIMAL, BEAST! What? Animal? Beast? There's only one person I've ever heard her call that… And…

While I hurtle down the stairs, I briefly consider pretending to be angry with him. I could put on a stormy face, and see how he takes the change from lover to hater. But somehow, I know he'll see through it. I've never bee able to hate him, even in the scungiest pits of despair, and I never will be. Why? The moment he catches sight of my flailing arms coming down the stairs, the moment his brow softens with relief, the moment he catches me gently before pushing me up and away again tell me why. His I-love-you-too-but-I'll-never-admit-it attitude just a little working on.