Remus told Cleave, "I'll be outside in a few minutes," and promptly closed the door. If the cab's meter was running, so be it. Dix could well afford to pay.

He turned to find Nymphadora had walked into the lounge instead of remaining in the kitchen. That she'd eavesdropped wasn't a surprise. What he didn't expect was for her to throw herself into his arms and snog him breathless.

"I'll clean the mess while I wait," she said, after they finally came up for air.

"I'm not sure when I'll be able to return." Remus kissed her one last time. "You're on afternoon patrol. You should go."

"I don't want to."

Nymphadora's sulky mouth was a temptation he had to resist. "I don't want you to leave, either, but if you're late for patrol, Dawlish might deny your next request to leave the village." Remus gave into the need to touch by rubbing his finger across her bottom lip. "If I have to come to you, though, I will."

"Promise?"

He saw the vulnerability beneath her smile. "I promise."

"Okay." She took a bundled serviette out of her trouser pocket. "I saved you a rasher of bacon. Eat it in front of Cleave and make him drool over the smell—the git." She stuck her tongue out at the door and presumably the man behind it while she fished a brushing/flossing mint from another pocket. "Here. For afters."

"Thank you."

Nymphadora's eyes had regained their usual cheeky glint. "My pleasure, and after I tidy the kitchen, I'll leave you something to remember me by."

"A limerick?"

She blew him a kiss. "Wait and see."

Remus left the flat with a smile on his face. After he climbed into the Squire Cab, he waited for the taxicab to hurtle into motion before he un-wrapped the serviette and took a bite of bacon.

"Brenda's making breakfast," Cleave said, in a so-you'd-better-not-say-you're-too-full-to-eat-it tone.

"Excellent. I'm still hungry."

"Can't get enough, is that it, Lupin?"

Remus declined to rise to the bait. He stared out the window and watched the blur of traffic until the cab screeched to a halt in front of a Salford Quays development overlooking the Erie Basin.

"Dix is on the top floor." Cleave pointed to one of the wrought-iron balconies that adorned the brick building.

"Naturally," Remus murmured. He exited the cab and followed in the other man's wake as he prowled his way into the building. An older couple sitting in the lobby shrank against each other when Cleave passed by. The tiny Yorkshire terrier lying across the woman's lap sprang to all fours and barked.

"Hush, Midge!" the witch cried shrilly.

Remus paused to extend his hand to the dog. The blue and tan face bent to sniff his fingers and then lick them. Smell the bacon, do you? "She's a brave guardian," he said. "Good day."

In the lift, Cleave said, "The Ministry used to send out general notices whenever a werewolf established residency in an area. Now Magical Law Enforcement goes door to door." He shot a contemptuous glance toward the wide-eyed couple and their dog. "Neighbours are prejudiced before you unpack a trunk."

"It's unfortunate," Remus said as the lift rose.

In the confined space, Cleave loomed aggressively. "It's anti-werewolf legislation."

"Yes."

"That doesn't make you angry?"

"Anger is negative. I'd rather channel my energy into something positive like establishing the brewery."

A soft chime announced the lift had reached the top floor. Cleave inhaled deeply—sniffing for lies. Remus waited patiently for him to finish.

"Is that you, dears? I just swirled toffee sauce over the apple pancakes, so do scurry!" Brenda's tone was that of a mother chiding sons for playing in the lift.

Cleave turned on his heel at once.

Dressed in a tweed skirt and a canary yellow twin set that matched her hair colour, Brenda waved from an opened door in the marble-lined corridor. "Hullo! Sorry to break up your chat, but the recipe said to serve immediately." She led the way into a flat decorated in a sleek, minimalist style. "And I don't trust Tommy alone with the food. He's acted ravenous all mornin'." Brenda giggled.

At a round dining table situated in front of French doors that led to the balcony, Dix sat with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece of bacon in the other. "Took you two long enough. Sit down and let's eat."

"The pancakes look delicious," Remus said. "Is this whipped cream on top?"

His hostess seemed delighted he had asked, "No, it's Greek-style natural yoghurt, thick and creamy. Try a bite with the pancake." Brenda poured him a cup of tea and beamed when he said the pancakes were superb. "'Course toffee sauce will improve almost anythin'," she said, "but the yoghurt's lovely on its own or with fresh berries, or muesli..."

Brenda knew dozens of uses for yoghurt and happily shared each one in detail while the men ate and made the occasional comment or sound of appreciation. Afterwards, Remus offered to help clear away the dishes.

"Cleave will help me," she said. "Tommy wants to show you the view."

Once Remus joined him on the small patio surrounded by railings, Dix closed the French doors and cast a privacy charm. "I trust Cleave more than anyone except Brenda, but some things, he doesn't need to know." He stood at the front rail and stared out over the water.

Remus said, "The Wolfsbane Potion—"

"Was a success," Dix said, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "We retained control of our minds and in the morning, we felt more—energetic—than we have in a long time." He pinned Remus with a steely blue gaze. "That's the good news."

A fission of unease travelled up Remus' spine.

"The bad news," Dix said, "is that the potion opened my eyes to what I should've figured out a long time ago."

Remus didn't ask what that was; he waited to be told.

Dix said, "At first it was so amazing, being a wolf yet thinking like a man. The ramifications didn't immediately sink in." His tone was reminiscent. "Brenda and I connected on a level..." He shook his head. "I can't describe it."

"There's no need," Remus said. "I understand." He wished he didn't, that he was unaware of the bond between his wolf and his mate—in both her forms.

"Of course you do. It's what you planned, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Don't feign ignorance, professor. You knew when I experienced the change I'd realise why the Ministry cancelled funding to provide Wolfsbane Potion, and why Greyback forbids werewolves to use it."

Remus tensed in anticipation. "Why?"

"Animals capable of reason might decide not to stay in their kennels on full moons. The Ministry obviously doesn't want that." Dix gave a short, hard laugh. "And neither does You Know Who. His promises—Greyback's promises—are lies."

"Not all of them," Remus said. "The opportunity for vengeance is truly offered."

"And what does that gain us?"

"Aside from the fear of wizards? Nothing."

Dix raked a hand through his hair. "Exactly. Used or feared, it doesn't change the werewolves' position at the bottom of the heap. The only difference is the leather of the heel pressed against our throats."

Light or Dark, to Dix the Ministry and Voldemort would seem two sides of the same coin of oppression. One offered the dole and the other offered the blood of enemies, yet both planned to retain a chokehold. Remus supported the Light because it was the right thing to do. Dix, however, was more pragmatic. That was the true bad news: Remus' chance of swaying him to take a stand against Greyback appeared non-existent.

To confirm his doubts, Remus said, "You plan to keep this knowledge to yourself."

"I can't build a brewery if I'm dead." Dix smiled thinly. "Unless you think You Know Who would bring me back as an Inferi."

Remus looked toward the French doors. A dark shape stood on the other side, gazing out. "What about Cleave?" he asked.

"He thinks I'm reminding you of your wizard handshake, and that if Greyback finds out, punishment will go beyond the physical. You'll lose your status." Dix focused on the waterfront again. "As I said, there are some things he doesn't need to know."

"Why tell me?"

Dix shrugged. "Isn't that what a teacher wants, a student to demonstrate his understanding of the concepts taught?" He said, "There won't be overt application, professor, so if shared knowledge isn't enough..."

Remus took the warning. "It's enough."

He returned to his flat an hour later to find Delia Bowen on the doorstep. She wore a faded housedress and held a crumpled letter in her hand. Worry deepened the lines on her face.

"What's going on, Lupin?"

"We'll talk inside." He opened the door for Delia to enter and almost walked into her when she halted suddenly. He blinked in surprise. On the futon sofa Will had used for a bed was a gift basket of chocolate bars and truffles. Tied to the brown wicker handle were the ribbons of an enormous bouquet of balloons.

"I understand the pink and red 'I love you' hearts nonsense," Delia muttered, "But why the stars add a clown-nosed smiley face balloon with multicoloured hair?"

"To make me smile." Beyond the lounge space, Remus spied rose petals on the carpet and the stairs. If Delia asked the meaning of those, he would pretend not to hear.

Her eyes flickered toward the trail of petals and veered away. "All right, Lupin, we're inside. I want the truth so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. I don't believe my girl moved to Inverness on a whim without packing a single bag and if you say she did—"

"She didn't," Remus said. He took a bar of chocolate from the basket and handed it to Delia. "Have a seat and I'll tell you what happened."

She tore the wrapper and bit off a hunk of chocolate before plopping down onto the sofa. By the time he finished sharing a condensed version of earlier events, she had finished the entire bar. "Merlin," she whispered. "I need a drink."

Remus fetched a couple of Butterbeers from the coolant cabinet.

"I meant alcohol." Delia made a face and took a long swig. "I can't believe she did that—forgave Lillie. Who does that?"

"Nym did."

"And she wanted to make you smile? Merlin!" Delia drank another swallow of Butterbeer. "Who the hell is this woman—a former Miss Hufflepuff?"

Remus guiltily enjoyed the mental image of Nymphadora in a black bikini with a yellow Miss Hufflepuff 1991 sash across her torso. "She is just and loyal," he said.

"Young and pretty, too." Delia set her crumpled wrapper and bottle on a side table and shifted to face Remus. "If Cleave moves in, I wouldn't encourage her to visit anymore. Kemp's overheard him talking a couple of times. Cleave would like a chance to get your mate alone."

"Why would he move in?" Remus looked around. Tidiness was the only thing the flat had going for it.

"He's tired of living with Travis and Haas. They're pigs, according to Kemp, and Will bragged to anyone who listened that you're better than a cleaning witch when it comes to household charms."

Cleave, on the sofa, eyes glued to the ceiling, fantasising that he was the one upstairs in bed with Nymphadora. Remus' stomach twisted at the thought. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear a wolf growl. "No," he said. "I won't allow him anywhere near her."

"Look," Delia said. "If it happens, if he moves in, my sofa's available if you want it."

Remus didn't. Bad as it might be, he would prefer Cleave as a flatmate. Such an admission, however, would be less than kind. Remus said, "Thank you for the offer."

"Right. Well, I have Lillie's things to pack."

"If you need assistance—"

"Kemp will help." Delia set her empty bottle and chocolate wrapper on a side table. "When you talk to Nym," she said gruffly, "Tell her she has my deepest gratitude."

Remus said he would and when Delia left, he followed the trail of petals upstairs to the bedroom. On his pillow lay a single red rose tied to a scroll of parchment. He untied the ribbon.

Muggle supermarkets are open early and have florists to create any basket you like, but none of their cards expressed my feelings half as well as a poem I once wrote on the back of a pub serviette. I still remember every line, and mean them more every day.

The serviette mentioned was pressed between the pages of a journal currently stored in Nymphadora's trunk for safekeeping. Remus remembered a May night and an adorably tipsy serenade as he read:

I love the way you say my name,

and how you hold me tight,

I love the way you're in my thoughts,

and in my dreams at night.

I love the way you smile at me.

I really love your hair.

I love the way you are with kids,

the way you teach and care.

I love the way you hold my hand,

your tender, gentle touch.

I love everything about you.

I love you so damn much!

At the end of her recitation, Nymphadora had thrown out her arms and toppled back to land on her heart-shaped derriere. Remus chuckled over how he'd run down the steps to make sure she was all right, and the combination of tenderness and lust she'd inspired with her teary vow that he made her "so happy," and the tantalising glimpse of panties beneath a miniskirt hiked up by bare, sprawled legs.

Remus took out his Melusine Mirror and called, "Nymphadora."

Her face instantly appeared. She said, "You know, I have this vague suspicion you found what I left for you to remember me by."

"I have more than a vague suspicion I'm madly in love with you," he said. "I know it without a doubt."

Nymphadora's smile was misty. "You make me so happy."

He repeated the words that were true the first time he'd said them, and would remain true, come what may. "You make me happy, too."

-

Over the next few days, he packed various household items a young couple would need into Will's trunk and used a shrinking spell to fit one of the futons and a side table into another box. Delia stopped by to inform Remus that the elves who were coming for Lillie's things would stop by his flat for Will's owl and belongings before heading to Inverness. She flatly refused to allow him to help pay.

"It's the least I can do," she said.

The lounge, half-emptied of furniture, looked shabby. The flat was oppressively quiet without Will's boisterous presence, which added to the general air of dreariness. Since Cleave hadn't shown up, bag in hand, Remus became cautiously optimistic. He decided to paint. He went to the nearest hardware story and chose a flat, water-borne emulsion out of the discounted returns bin. The colour was "toast," which he thought would appeal to Nymphadora more than a tin of beige.

Apprised of the colour, his love said as long as it wasn't burnt toast, she was sure it would be a vast improvement on the room's current, grubby white. She proclaimed her eagerness to wield a paintbrush and put in a request to spend the first Saturday of December away from the village.

Remus cleaned the walls, covered the furniture, and taped off the woodwork in preparation. On Saturday, he awoke early and went to the shops for pastries and a small posy of winter flowers. On the way home, he felt the mirror warm.

"Nymphadora?" he called, as soon as he reached the privacy of his flat.

The face that appeared in the mirror was angry and miserable. "Dawlish revoked my leave," she said. "I just left his office. This morning he received an anonymous tip that werewolves are roaming the Forbidden Forest, so in the interest of public safety, patrols are hereby doubled and all leave is prohibited until further notice." Her mimicry of Dawlish was viciously precise.

She was so upset, he had to ask, "Do you believe he fabricated the message?"

"No, but the timing—" Nymphadora pressed her lips together.

"You believe someone else did?"

"I don't want to."

Remus didn't press any further. Whether she admitted it or not, Nymphadora suspected Jerry of sending the "tip" to keep her in Hogsmeade—away from her lover.

He said, "When are you scheduled to patrol?"

"Right now and again at three o'clock." She looked at him hopefully. "Are you going to come see me? If you do I'll give you a massage to loosen up those muscles after you paint."

"I'll try my best."

Nymphadora winked. "Then I'll stop by the apothecary and pick up massage oil. Got to go, love you, bye."

Remus' gaze shifted from his reflection in the mirror to the blue anemones he'd bought to make her smile. He'd put them in water and bring them to Hogsmeade when he visited.

Four hours later, paint spatters covered his old tee and denims and the walls of the lounge were warm beige. The room was still Spartan, but it wasn't dingy anymore. Remus used a spell to move the furniture back into place and several more to cleanse the painting equipment. The next time he got the urge to renovate, all he'd need to purchase was emulsion.

He was about to go upstairs to shower and charm-clean his clothes when he heard a chime. Remus expected to find Delia on the doorstep. She missed her daughter and dropped by every day to see if Will had owled.

His visitor was Cleave. Over the man's brawny shoulder, Remus saw Travis and Haas. Clad in leather and denim, the unshaven, straggly-haired duo carried a large trunk between them. They looked like grungy human bookends.

This is what Sirius called the first corollary to Sod's Law: whatever can go wrong will do so at the worst possible moment.

Remus stepped back to allow the men to enter.

"Will didn't lie, the place is clean." Cleave sniffed the air. "Fresh paint. Nice." He pointed to the empty space formerly occupied by a second futon. "Place my trunk against that wall."

He told Remus, "There's plenty of room for me to lift weights down here, so I won't make you give up the bedroom."

He could have. It was within Cleave's rights as Beta. Remus inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"I need a drink," Haas said, yawning. He wandered into the kitchen and returned with a bottle. "All you got is Butterbeer?"

"I'll take it," Travis said. "I'm thirsty." He plucked the bottle out of Haas' hand and offered it to Cleave. "Unless you want it?"

Haas snatched it back. "If he wants Butterbeer I'll pour it into a glass. I found some clean ones in a cupboard."

"What'd you expect to find—dirty dishes?" Travis gave Haas a shove.

Cleave jerked his head toward the door. "Leave."

Travis asked, "Can I have a Butterbeer, first?"

Remus used an Accio to retrieve a bottle from the kitchen.

"Thanks, old man," Travis said. "See you, Cleave."

Haas waved his bottle. "I could still pour—no? Okay. Later." He slunk outside.

The two that remained regarded each other in silence. After a couple of minutes, Cleave asked, "Are you always this talkative?"

Remus curved his lips to show he understood the joke. "Yes."

Cleave padded over to the trunk and opened the lid. He brought out a small cube that transformed into a black leather club chair. "Good." He took a newspaper out next and closed the trunk before settling into the chair. "We should get along, then. I value peace and quiet."

"So do I." Remus walked upstairs, heavy hearted. Cleave was not Will. He wasn't a friend, he was a potential threat. Remus couldn't invite Nymphadora to stay with him anymore. He would have to visit her.

When he came out of the bathroom after he showered and dressed, Remus discovered his new flatmate in the corridor, staring into the bedroom. "Pretty balloons," Cleave said. "Are you expecting Nym to visit?"

Remus stiffened. He had forgotten to ward his door shut—a mistake he wouldn't make again. "She's working. I hoped to visit her—"

"Not anytime soon," Cleave said. "You're going to Inverness, first thing tomorrow."

"Why?" Remus had dark memories of Inverness. He had no wish to return.

Cleave said, "Dix named you Delta, but Greyback has the final say. If he denies approval..." His smile was wolfish.

"He isn't there," Remus said. "Shouldn't I go—"

"You'll go wherever Greyback tells you to," Cleave cut in, "and wait until he arrives. He has more important matters to attend than testing your worthiness."

Threatening wizards, attacking innocent children...

"Were you tested?" Remus asked, out of a need to say something, anything, to keep the past at bay.

Cleave slowly shook his head. "My worth has never been questioned."

Remus' had, many times. That sort of questioning, unpleasant as it was, he didn't dread half as much as the questions he anticipated from Nymphadora.

-

Tonks was speechless. Here she was, un-dressed up and ready to give a sensual massage and Remus couldn't visit. On top of that, he was being sent to Inverness, to a pack that lived down to the Ministry's view of them as animals. He didn't even know when he would return.

She felt hot tears prick the back of her eyes. Wasn't this supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year? It was setting up to be the unhappiest season of all, in her opinion.

Bah bloody humbug! Why doesn't somebody give the world a Christmas present and bury Greyback with a stake of holly through his heart?

She was so lost in vengeful thoughts, it took a moment to realise Remus was calling her name in a tender, are-you-all-right tone of voice. Tonks fought to keep a tight rein on her emotions. "Will you be able to use your mirror?"

"If not every night, as often as I can."

Tonks tried to nod and couldn't do it. "Don't go," she whispered.

"I have to. It's my duty, my mission." His expression was regretful yet determined.

She wanted to curse and scream, cry and beg—do something, anything, to change his mind and keep him from going. He expected her to; she could see it in his eyes. Remus was braced to handle arguments and pleas.

Tonks forced herself to say, "All right, stay safe. I love you."

"I love you. Hopefully I won't be gone long."

"Bring food," she said, in an attempt to be practical instead of emotional. "Dix can afford a goodwill gesture."

"The Inverness pack takes pride in self-sufficiency."

Meaning they'd rather steal and kill than take a handout. She tried not to think about what kind of living conditions Remus would face. "Then take chocolate and energy bars for yourself and share whenever you get the chance."

Remus' lips curved slightly. "I will."

Tonks didn't break down when they said goodbye and didn't cry once the mirror returned to a normal reflective state. She felt almost numb. She stared at the walls until they seemed to close in around her and then pulled on a tee and tracksuit over her frilly bits and laced up her trainers.

She left the Hog's Head and began to jog.

"Tonks!"

She turned. "Hey, Jerry."

He looked like an oversized Christmas elf in his green jumper and knit cap. Jerry's smile added to his jolly appearance. It stretched from ear-to-ear. "You're feeling better, coming to Fiona and Hamish's for dinner after all?"

"No." She'd forgotten about running into the couple during afternoon patrol and her excuse for declining the invitation. Shite. Tonks said, "I'm going on a run and then I'm in for the night." And I'll get some sleep if I have to use a Morpheus Charm.

Jerry was giving her an I'm-worried-about-you look. "It's still a little early. We could take a walk and then go on to the Macbeths'."

"I'm not hungry," she said, "and I don't want to walk. I need to run."

"What are you running from?"

"Nothing," she said, "I'll talk to you at breakfast, okay?"

Jerry moved in front of her. "Talk to me now. Let me help."

"You can't." She Apparated to a spot on the path to Hogwarts and took off running. It was a release to focus on the moment, to concentrate on her pace and breathing.

Once she reached the gates, Tonks picked up a stick off the ground to rattle across the iron bars. The sight of it in her hand gave her a better idea. Why use a stick when she could strike the bars with werewolf claws and really make some noise? She concentrated on the spell. Unguis...

Her fingernails lengthened and curved into deadly talons. "If I could morph, I'd make you pink," Tonks said, "but if you can't be girly, at least you'll be loud." She steadied the gate with her left hand and swiped at the bars with her right. A gasp tore from her throat when her claws slid along the iron as though it was greased, and instead of raking horizontally slashed down, across her wrist—tearing through cloth and skin.

Tonks pressed her arm to her chest, trembling with shock. Blood was seeping through her tracksuit. She Apparated.

Fiona went pale when she answered the door. "Merlin, you're bleeding!"

"I need a Healer," Tonks said. "I hurt myself." She swayed on her feet and then pitched forward, into darkness.

-

She awoke in an unfamiliar room but the man sleeping next to her was no stranger. Tonks sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and frowned. The tee she was wearing belonged to a shorter woman. It didn't cover her racy knickers. She pulled the sheet across her lap. "Jerry," she said. "Wake up." Tonks ran her fingers over the bandages on her arm. What had happened?

"You're awake. That's good. Madam Pomfrey said you lost a lot of blood, but didn't damage the tendons or the nerves." Jerry's voice was raspy. "She said you should be watched overnight, so Hamish and Fiona offered us their guest room."

"Pomfrey? I came here instead of the castle to avoid that witch," Tonks said fretfully. "Doesn't the village have a Healer?"

"Healer Tennant and his wife Catherine are on holiday."

"Just my luck."

Jerry clambered over the mattress to sit beside her. "It wasn't luck," he said. "It was a cry for help."

Her jaw dropped. "It was an accident."

"You nearly split the vein beyond repair. I could've lost you." Jerry took her hand in his. "He's not worth it."

"It had nothing to do with Remus," she said firmly. "I was clumsy, not suicidal." She tried to pull her fingers out of his clasp. "Let me go."

"I can't," Jerry said. "I love you."

-

A/N: Even when I try to stick to an outline, sometimes the story takes a different path than the one I'd first intended. I'd meant for this chapter to be Waiting for Christmas, but a bunch of werewolves, an impulsive Metamorphmagus, and her love-blind Auror partner shifted the story yet again. If it's any consolation, I'll start with Tonks' pov next chapter!

Elves make wine, they run households and schools for witchcraft and wizardry. I thought it would be interesting if freed elves ran a moving company. Imagine the magical beings business association meetings!

The poetic serenade came from the first chapter of Promise of a Spring Moon. In the author note for that fic, I thanked Ladyofthebookworms for coming across the quote, "You know, I have this vague suspicion I'm madly in love with you" and requesting that I work it into the story somehow. In this fic, I'm thankful I was able to reuse that line and give it a new twist. Bright memories lighten dark times.

The readers who reviewed last chapter and gave me bright memories to lighten angst-filled writing were...40/16, adrienne.hope, alix33, Calenmarwen, Carnivalgirl, ChristinaAngel, Chrysanthemum3, EllaQueenB , ElspethBates, Freja Lercke-Falkenborg, Her My Own EE, ishandtwofourths, Lady Adrienne Faery, Ladyofthebookworms, MollyCoddles, Moontime, Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, Operamuse, potteronpotluvhim, Rose of the West, sunny9847, SunshineDaisies816, tambrathegreat, vintagejgc, zena, and Ziroana.