1997

Remus returns to their house, and is greeted by the smell of smoke and burning toast. Drawing his wand apprehensively, he walks into the kitchen.

"Dora, what on Earth is going on?" She's slumped forlornly at the kitchen table, the offending piece of toast lying blackened on a plate before her.

"I tried to make you dinner. I know you're always ravenous after the full moon, but I sort of stuffed it up."

"I can see that," he says, trying unsuccessfully not to smile. "Thank you, Dora."

He hopes those three words convey everything he wants them to, because even though she burnt the toast, she was trying to do something for him, and random acts of kindness are not something Remus is used to. There's something infinitely meaningful about small acts of thoughtfulness. To Remus they are invaluable and irrefutable proof that he is here, and he, just like everyone else, has every right to be. Tonks has shown him that.