My mum always told me that there'd come a point in life at which I'd be ready to grow up. She said this all throughout my teenage years, through the brightly coloured hair and the 'ear-shattering' music and the practical jokes; through the inability to behave, to stay still, to find a nice boy and settle down.

Hers came, she said, when she met Dad and realised that she'd do absolutely anything to be with him, that everything she did, said, was for him, that she'd cast aside her family and everything they stood for - for him.

I thought it'd happen when I decided to become an Auror, when I wanted to stop people from doing bad things, people like Mum's family. But it didn't - I still liked wearing my hair the way Mum hated, in all the colours I could think of. I still played jokes on people. I still couldn't even think of getting married without laughing til I cried. It just wasn't going to happen.

I knew I could still be a good Auror - I was good. I just couldn't grow up yet. It wasn't my time.

Everyone in the Ministry heard about the mysterious death of Cedric Diggory at Hogwarts. He was a Hufflepuff, like me - he'd been a third-year when I left. And everyone heard what Dumbledore was saying about the cause of his death ... that You-Know-Who was back. That'd he'd killed Diggory, and tried to kill the Boy Who Lived ...

The papers said Potter and Dumbledore were raving. Fudge said they were raving.

A week after You-Know-Who's alleged return, Dumbledore showed up at my parents' house.

He was trying to convince them of You-Know-Who's return. He said the Ministry had been wrong about a lot of things in the past - convicted innocent people, he'd said, looking straight at Mum - and they were wrong now. He was back, and the Order of the Phoenix, a secret anti-Dark organisation, needed people to help bring him down.

He'd come to Mum and Dad because he knew Mum didn't stand for You-Know-Who's beliefs - she'd left her own Dark family and married a Muggle-born - and he thought they might help, even if they didn't want to officially join.

Mum and Dad agreed to that, but I, who had been listening despite Mum's protests, wanted more.

"I want to join."

Was that it? Was that the point?

It wasn't. I joined the Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore took me to an old, run-down part of London, and revealed the location of their secret headquarters. I stepped into that grimy, dark house, into a kitchen that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, and found a surprisingly large group of people - some I knew, like - to my shock - Kingsley Shacklebolt, a fellow Auror, Mad-Eye Moody, my old mentor, and Bill Weasley, who had been at school with me - smiling at me.

"Our newest member," Dumbledore had introduced me. "Nymphadora Tonks."

"It's just Tonks," I'd told them, something I'd been repeating for most of my life.

A tall, thin man with long dark hair and a shadowy face had come forwards, staring. He'd looked familiar - very familiar - but I couldn't place him.

"Tonks?" he'd repeated. "As in Ted Tonks?"

"My dad."

"Andromeda's daughter!" he'd crowed, looking delighted, and not nearly as shadowy, and I'd realised -

"Sirius Black!"

- and remembered what Dumbledore had said. That the Ministry had convicted innocent people in the past. And I remembered how he'd looked at Mum as he said that.

Sirius Black. Mum's cousin.

"You're not a murderer?"

"I'm not," he'd replied, still smiling. "Not yet, anyway. I thought you were only a baby! Hey - Remus - you remember my cousin Andromeda?"

Another man had come through the crowd, thin, pale, younger, I could tell, than he looked.

"Welcome to the good side," you said wryly, holding out your hand.

That can't be it.

It wasn't.

It was quite simple. I fell in love. I've fallen a lot of times, but this time was definitely the most enjoyable - and yet probably the most painful. I fell in love with you. You slowed me down, made me treasure the little things, take life a bit more seriously. But I still wasn't ready to grow up.

You fell in love too, you admitted it. Foolish thing to do, eh? Fools together.

But of course, we couldn't be together. You were too old, too poor, too dangerous. I know. But I also knew everything you'd told me before. That I brightened up your life with my hair colours and clumsiness and jokes.

So what was it? When did it happen?

The thing is, if I'd come that far - got a job, fought in a war, fallen in love - without needing to let go of the hair, and the jokes, why did I need to? If they made someone else happy, what did it matter?

You are old, I'm not going to deny it. Your hair's going grey - bet you wish you could change it like I can, eh? And yeah, you haven't got that much money. What the hell do you want to buy? You've got me!

And what's life without a little danger? You don't need to worry about hurting me, you already did that when you told me you couldn't be with me. Trust me, that hurts a lot more than anything you could do as a werewolf. But you're over it now, right? Don't ever do that again, I'll kick your arse.

Truth is, for me, there never will be that point. I am growing - I grow more and more in love with you every day - but you're grown-up enough for the both of us. And if I can love you even if you are too old, too poor, and too dangerous, then why the heck can't you love me when I'm too young, too clumsy, too childish?

You've made your point.

Yeah. So there is a point. It isn't the point at which you grow up. It's the point that you realise don't need to.

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So. I woke up this morning and realised what date it was, and was like oh, fiddlesticks, it's basically a year since I posted the first chapter of this and I take this sort of thing very seriously. So I wrote this instead of doing my drama coursework (due in tomorrow) so you'd better be grateful, even thought it's a pile of dragon dung. And my coursework will be too. Oh dear.

Tonks is dreadfully hard to write - I just couldn't capture her spirit and still have her being serious. Bad Glisseo.

Remus - today? Tomorrow? Who knows. Probably tomorrow, because I'd like to finish this on the same day that I started it. (Yes, that's right, finish it.)

I have horribly long authors notes. Does anyone actually read these?

Um, OK, edit - and I'm sorry if you get a new email every time I change this, I dunno - just realised it's actually two years since I first started this. Wow. I really am bad at updating. Nine chapters in two years. Whoops ...