Disclaimer: Is this really needed? I am NOT J.K. Rowling, as anyone the intellectual equivalent of a goldfish would know, there therefore I do not own the characters.

A/N: Was inspired to write this at 10:30 pm. Fortunately it was not a school night. It's just an introspective ficlet set in the early autumn of 1997.

She was asleep.

They'd been sitting in her flat, just talking – it was one of the rare times that they were able to relax, even if it was only a little. But the full moon was only two days past, so Remus was not as busy as he usually was. He just felt worn and exhausted and battered.

So Nymphadora had argued with him until he finally gave in and collapsed on the sofa and let her force strong cocoa down his throat. Then she charmed the sofa just a little wider, so she could stretch out beside him, and he made her move to the inside because he knew that she'd manage to fall off the edge otherwise.

The sky outside the window darkened slowly into night, and Remus thought of all the protective spells that had to be placed on homes these days. Though this was an Auror's residence, after all, and Nymphadora was probably safer than most.

When she was there, of course. Which wasn't most of the time.

Remus wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep; they had been silent for a little while, and then he asked about how Ted and Andromeda were doing, and hadn't received a reply.

He looked down at her still, calm face for several minutes, soaking in her features and the softness of her brown hair – she didn't feel quite up to morphing for no reason some days, she said, too much else to do – and thought how strange it was that he could be even a little happy this summer. It didn't seem logical. And Remus' life, oddly enough, usually was.

Peoples' intolerance for werewolves wasn't quite unfounded. It made sense that he would be generally shunned, penniless and unemployed. It made sense that men and women whose children had been savaged by Fenrir Greyback looked at him with loathing and fear.

It made sense that Lily Evans and James Potter were dead – after all, hadn't they been involved in one of the most dangerous Wizarding leagues in history? It made sense that Sirius was dead – he had always been reckless – and that Peter Pettigrew was a traitor. All your friends can't be loyal. It would defy the laws of nature.

And Albus Dumbledore had been ancient, kind, and wise. And he himself had said that the innocent always suffer and die first.

And sometimes Remus even made sense to himself. His father offended a werewolf, so they both had to pay the price. His father had stopped years before, but Remus was still alive and still had not finished with the price. He told himself that lycanthropy affects a certain number of Wizards a year, and it wasn't so strange that one of them was him. He was a quiet child, and became used to being alone.

But out of the blue he had a school and an understanding headmaster and friends, and it was happiness that was always out of order, and always caught him off guard.

Harry survived. Voldemort fell. Sirius wasn't the traitor, after all. And Nymphadora Tonks cheerfully bashed her way into his life and refused to go away, even when her cheer was gone and only persistence and love remained.

But sadness always intruded, too. Sirius was gone again; Voldemort returned; Albus Dumbledore had fallen, and the Wizarding world was in peril every moment.

So Remus was very surprised that he could be a little happy.

He ceased studying the face of the sleeping witch beside him, and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would go back to fighting the war against Voldemort with every bit of the power he could muster, but for one quiet evening he could just feel peaceful. He and Nymphadora Tonks probably would not be able to just sit and talk until next month's illness, when he wasn't fit to be fighting and she somehow always managed to find time to fuss over him.

But that was tomorrow; now he did not have to think about it. A few hours of respite once every moon were not so much to ask, after all. All the things he had to do would still be there in the morning.

But Nymphadora Tonks would be too, most likely trying to make him toast and burning it horribly and then laughing and kissing him on the cheek.

And that was the most illogical thing of all.

More bits and pieces will appear, unless I am suddenly and completely bereft of inspiration.

Reviews are very happy things. Can't you see them merrily trotting about in cyberspace, spreading good cheer where'er they are seen?