I hurry along the road, the bag of clothes for Remus bounces against my right leg and thankfully distracts me from the smell of Indian takeaway emanating from the bag in my other hand. I'm as hungry as a wolf. It's been a hell of a day at the Ministry, because no matter how many people might secretely have been hoping for it, nobody thought Dumbledore could actually one day be dead. I managed to have a word with Kingsley, filling him in about the battle details and who was involved, but for the rest of the time had to avoid any Order members so as not to arouse suspicion. And now it's much later already than I had hoped. I turn into the small passage after the dry cleaner's and into the dingy backyard that I call home. Well, almost. All that Muggles can see are big rubbish bins, bikes and buckets behind a three storey building. What they can't see is the narrow fire escape ladder leading to a fourth storey, which is the flat that I took over four years ago from a Ministry Unspeakable who preferred to go rural. Mum didn't approve of the place at all, probably mainly because of the smelly backyard serving as access, but Dad completely got why it was nice to live tucked away in a busy Muggle street. No sign of Remus though, which gives me a moment to make sure the flat doesn't look like...well, like it has looked most of the past year. I drop the bags in my small hallway and immediately set to work. All discarded clothes wander into the laundry cauldron, used mugs and plates pile up in the sink. I air my bedroom and tidy the bed, my guts contracting at the idea of both of us hopefully sleeping here tonight. Although I wouldn't put it past Remus to demand to sleep on the sofa. I charm the floor clean in the other room, and just when I've thrown some Daily prophets into the bin, the doorbell rings.

'Remus Lupin awaiting entrance', the old-fashioned little pixie statue squeaks from the hallway, Mum gave me the thing when I started living on my own, because 'you never know who you open the door to these days'.

'Permitted' I shout at the pixie while checking my reflexion in the mirror. He really has come.

I open the door and there he is, standing on the landing against the evening sky, a shy smile in his tired face.

'Hello, Tonks.'

'Hello, Remus.'

I beam at him and we exchange a brief, gentle kiss that still feels a bit awkward.

'Come in.'

As he hesitantly steps inside and glances at my Weird Sisters poster, I'm suddenly embarassed by all my colourful decoration, it's very much a girl's flat and I'm not even sure I'm that girl anymore. He has taken off his shoes without asking and follows me into the living room. Since one of the flat's former occupants had a taste for interior design and several walls breached, living room, hallway and kitchen feel more like a studio, and I'm glad I've had the time to tidy up a bit.

'You've got a very nice flat,' Remus comments politely as he sits down on my blue velvet sofa, he looks odd against it in his shabby robes, but maybe that's because I generally find it odd to see him here, in my flat, after only ever having met elsewhere.

'Would you like a tea? Or a Muggle beer?'

'A Muggle beer would be great, thanks.' He leans back into the sofa with a weary sigh and watches me fetch two bottles and open them. After I have placed them on the small coffee table, he pulls me into an embrace that I'm more than willing to be pulled in. The exhaustion of the day washes over me when I bury my face in his robes and inhale deeply. He smells like freshly cut wood and I feel the warmth of his body through the rough fabric of his robes, and his cheek against my hair.

'How has your day been?' he asks quietly.

'They're in some kind of frenzy at the Ministry, like, incited and shocked at the same time.'

'I'm not surprised,' Remus says darkly and reaches for his bottle. 'They've always felt inferior to Dumbledore and Dumbledore has criticised Scrimgeour on more than one occasion. Yet one can't pretend security and control anymore when a wizard like Dumbledore is murdered. They probably fear for their own lives now, too. As they should,' he adds and there is unfamiliar harshness in his voice.

'What have you been up to?' I ask.

'I've been around Diagon Alley and at Alastor's, to see how the Order will continue after last night's events. Mad-Eye reckons that Dumbledore has left Harry with some kind of plan or mission, linked to whatever they were after, together, yesterday evening. Minerva sent an owl that Harry refused to tell her where they had gone and that apparently Dumbledore wanted it secret. I'd like to talk to Harry though, maybe there is something the Order can do to help without him having to give all the details.'

'It's rather harsh on Harry, don't you think? He's not even of age. Why would Dumbledore leave Harry alone with a task of such importance that he can't even confide in others, not even Order members? It doesn't seem very fair to me.'

'I admit I've had similar thoughts, but then, Dumbledore has never been wrong in his judgement. Until yesterday, that is. He has always, always trusted Snape.'

We are silent for a while, taking swigs from our beers and feeling our bodies press against each other for safety in the face of the enormity of Snape's betrayal.

'Well, it's worth a try. To talk to Harry, I mean. He likes you and trusts you,' I finally say.

'And I like and trust him,' Remus replies, 'though I fear I have let him down somewhat during the past year. I should have been there for him after Sirius died, but I didn't even write.'

'You were away,' I comment, rather pointedly, as I would have killed for a letter from Remus during all those months, and he seems oblivious to it.

'Yes, I was,' he says absent-mindedly, then seems to remember something and looks at me fondly, 'but now I'm back.'

'And I'm so unspeakably happy about that,' I whisper and squeeze his hand, taking in every detail of his face, his soft eyes, the shadows beneath them, the light stubble on his hollow cheeks and his mouth which I've always thought so sensitive.

'Nymphadora...' he says hoarsely. For once, I swallow a remark, because the look on his face is close to adoration. On an impulse, I sit astride on his lap, take his face into my hands and kiss him exactly the way they do in the cheesy Muggle movies I got to watch with Granny Tonks when I was a kid. He is startled for a moment, but then puts his warm hands around my waist and we're diving into that kiss together. But when my mouth starts wandering down his neck I can feel him tense and he holds me back.

'What is it?' I ask, slightly out of breath.

'It's just...I haven't had a shower for a while and I don't want..well, I'd prefer...' he stammers.

'Alright then. Might be a good idea for me too, actually. The bathroom is down the hallway, and oh, I got extra clothes for you! They're over here...'

I scramble off his lap and draw a big bundle from the bag.

'We've got several cupboards of stuff for disguise at the Auror office. I hope they're your size?' I ask and throw him the whole bundle.

'They look perfect,' he replies, feeling through the shirts and robes with an odd expression on his face, 'won't they be missed, though?'

'Nobody keeps track, especially not these days. I can always return them once you get your own stuff back. Just put the ones you're wearing in the cauldron in the bathroom, if you want. And there's a stack of towels on the shelf above the door, help yourself.'

Remus disappears into the bathroom and I hear the running water of the shower while I distribute the takeway curry on two plates. I have to suppress a giggle when I imagine how someone looking through my window at this very moment would have to assume that he is watching a couple's ordinary night after a working day. If Remus now comes walking out of the shower, only wearing a towel, and asks me what's for dinner, I'll go into hysterics. Of course, he does no such thing and exits my bathroom dressed in dark jeans and a white button-down shirt that suits him exceedingly well. The moistness in his hair makes the grey less pronounced and the Remus I see before me looks a good deal younger than I've ever seen him.

'Thank you for organising the clothes,' he says, looking down his own front, 'I feel rather...spruce.'

I snigger at his choice of expression, 'you should keep them, they're a lot more becoming than your patchy gear!'

It's out before I know it and I immediately want to smack myself with the ladle when I see the smile on his face crumble away.

'I'm sorry, Remus. That was a stupid thing for me to say.'

'You're probably right, though,' he shrugs and I blame myself for the stony expression that has replaced the open features of just seconds ago.

'Look, it doesn't matter. My brain is abnormally tired and the area responsible for decency is always the one to go to sleep first. What you just heard was its snoring.'

Remus chuckles and approaches the kitchen counter where I've set the curry plates steaming.

'This smells delicicious.'

Relieved, I carry the plates over to the sofa.

'It's my favourite curry from a place down the road. One of the reasons I quite like living in Muggle London.'

After we have devoured the curry and emptied our beers, Remus yawns and lets himself fall sideways against the cushions.

'Thank you for the food. I'm afraid I won't be able to keep my eyes open much longer. Do you want me to stay on the sofa?'

Is he kidding me?

'Are you kidding me?'

'Well, I thought -'

'Yeah, just stop that thinking of yours and get yourself up and to my bedroom. Please,' I add and bury my fingers in his still damp hair, 'I'll have a shower, too, will be with you in a minute.'

A/N: As always, feedback is most welcome!