My Dearest Remus,

Loving you is hardest thing that I've ever done, and something about that is invigorating beyond words. Convincing you to accept that intimate affection sounded so difficult, but I think you fell faster than you care to admit. Our biggest struggle getting to this day was meeting in the middle. The both of us loving each other in exactly the same way at exactly the same time…

I said that I loved you first, but you showed me long before you ever said it aloud. I saw it in the little things. Your breathing when I shoved you after a really good joke, your lingering stares whenever I was leaving a room. You always sent me home with my favorite sweets after the Order met to discuss the dark events plaguing our world. This world, this world that would see your kind murdered, this world that thought people like me were blood traitors – this world that we wanted to see into better times…

You were this brilliant silver light through all the evil that wanted suffocate us. I couldn't ignore you. Not that I wanted to, of course. I often found my thoughts wandering back to you, sometimes when it wasn't appropriate, sometimes when there were more important things to be thinking about instead. That's why I invited you for a drink in London, do you remember?

"You are fascinating, Remus Lupin, and I would really like to take you out for a drink," I had said to you in the plainest words I could conjure. Back then - I thought getting those words past my chattering teeth was harder than non-verbal spell casting. Now? It turns out that this was the easiest part of everything we've done.

Drinks in London quickly turned into dinners in London, and then turned again to dinners at your flat, or dinner at mine. Dinner quickly morphed into us crashing at one another's homes, too tired and too attached to stay alone. Of course, we were sleeping alone, weren't we? I usually laid awake several nights on your couch, thinking about what it might be light to share a bed with you instead.

For weeks I dreamt of that moment when you'd invite me into your room, innocence frayed on the edges your usually tired and raspy voice. That day never came the way I had imagined it. Instead, you had a particularly terrifying nightmare and I woke to your heart shattering screams. You were upright against the headboard, tears rolling down your face, gasping for air. I took it upon myself to crawl into bed with you, holding you in my arms until you felt safe enough to fall back asleep.

I moved in with you unofficially at that point. We discussed it over breakfast and it was agreed that it was safer for us, being in the Order and all. Part of me knew that I loved you already, but the other part of me just wanted to share what life we had left together without any strings, without any expectations. After all, those who stand against Voldemort eventually die. We both knew the story of the Potters, of the Longbottoms. No, we wanted this to be casual. If anyone asked, we just felt safer together.

Shared concerns, shared bills, shared loss – these things that once dominated our every thought became somewhat secondary to the happier things we learned to share. You quickly learned I'm a rotten chef, and I learned that you do a terrible job taking care of yourself properly. One day, I decided that you were doing way more for me than I was able to offer you. You've been on your own for much longer than I have been, and I recognized that you had more to offer.

That's why I approached you about this idea of mine. I wanted to go with you when you changed. If I were with you, the injuries could be reduced. I had thought I could help keep you calm. Obviously, you resisted: "No, Dora, you cannot come with me when I change. That crosses the line we've drawn."

A line drawn in sand - I shouted that, didn't I? Fury made me spit my disagreement. What were we doing thinking that we could just have this casual relationship? We thought it meant nothing but I realized too late that I was an idiot to agree to those terms. I told you that I loved you too much to let you do this dangerous thing on your own even once more. You told me that I couldn't love a 'filthy mongrel' like you, and then you asked me to leave you alone.

So I slept at my house that night.

And you showed up, raggedy and broken at my doorstep the very next day.

"I am sorry," you said in shredded breaths. "I can't lose you, Dora."

I will never forget the look on your face when you said that to me. It was the first time you were completely honest with me about your feelings. I would've had you then and there. I had to clean you up, though, and we got you into the bathroom right afterwards.

This letter is getting so long. I hope it doesn't scare you away. With all of my heart, I want nothing more than to marry you tomorrow. I don't care that it's on my parents' back porch with only Sirius bloody Black as our witness. Life is too short to run away from the only thing worth running towards – we know that better than anyone else, I think.

We kissed for the first time after I got you cleaned up that night. It wasn't special, it wasn't even good, but it was an important milestone. In my mind, this was the point of no return. Once I tasted you on my lips, there was no other future for me.

You then told me that you loved the day before your next transformation, though far more properly than when I said that I loved you. Something about this full moon felt different to you, that's what you were saying anyway. Maybe you thought you'd kill me. Maybe you thought I'd leave you. Only you know the real reason behind it. Though, I did believe you. I tried to say it back but I couldn't get it to roll of my tongue because, like this full moon, something didn't feel right about saying it back.

I did love you, but I loved you differently. I wasn't caught up yet. I loved you enough to be with you, I loved you enough to want to help you, but I didn't know yet that I loved you enough to choose you. To choose you even when you were a dirty, rotten bastard after I lied about getting hurt during your transformation to avoid having you push me away.

To choose you when you said you would abandon the Order if I didn't move all of my things out the next morning.

To choose you when you said that I was too desperate and clingy, too young and wild-hearted, too careless and misguided. You used our age, you used my blood status, you used our friends – everyone was a weapon for you to cast me aside like I didn't matter.

But I chose you – every bloody time.

I wasn't any better. I resorted to name-calling and belittling and lying. Anything and everything to trick you into taking back your thoughtless jibes at me. We were not right for each other at all during that time. Our relationship was tough for a few months. At one point or another we even sat down and told one another off – life was too short to be this miserable, to want to tear each other down so often.

You left me alone and stayed with Sirius for a few days.

Even though I've wanted to pry the truth from you, I never asked about what happened while you away – what convinced you to come back. I remember scrubbing the flat until it sparkled – without magic – and tidying everything in our rooms up. If we weren't going to be in a relationship, fine, but I was living here. I gave up my flat and dedicated myself to this arrangement. If that meant sleeping in your guest room and pretending that we're just friends, that's what I had do then.

Eventually you showed up with your suitcase and sullen look, I broke down. I told you that I loved you too much to give up. I rambled on and on about how the time we spent apart put it into perspective – it hadn't – that I loved you through hell and high water, and that I wasn't letting all of that go without a fight.

"Let's slow down a bit, okay?" You said it and I felt myself deflate. The last thing we needed was to slow down, but I didn't want to lose you. So I submitted.

Our world changed so quickly. One night we went out for drinks separately. There was no communication about our different evening plans. Yet somehow, we ended up in the same pub. I did myself up like a blonde, low cut jeans and a half buttoned plaid shirt. It must have appealed to someone's interests because someone offered to buy me a drink. You didn't like that I was being flirted with, I guess, cause you saddled your way up and sat next to me.

"Are you ready to go home, love?"

Love.

We went home that night, and it's crazy to think that this was only a couple of weeks ago, but we went home and you told me there and then that you wanted to marry me. How could we go from barely functioning in a relationship to diving headfirst into a proper one? Our love had never been a healthy one; our love had never been on the same page. What were we doing?

What are we doing?

I didn't know, I still don't know, but I have never need something as badly as I need to be your wife. Every ache, pain, and tear-stained pillowcase has been worth this wait. You're sitting in the next room, probably wide-awake if you're anything like the Remus Lupin that I love, and you're just staring at the wall trying to decide if this is the right choice. I don't think our marriage will be smooth sailing, not until this war is behind us, not until we can build up your confidence. Someday, though, this love will be pure bliss.

And you deserve it.

Repeat this truth until you believe me, Remus, because it will never change.

I love you.

Beyond words.

Beyond actions.

Beyond reason.

Only until morning,

Nymphadora Tonks