Every Second of My Life

A/N: Short one today, but I needed to end it where I did. I've got the next chapter all mapped out, so it shouldn't take too long to get up.

I have two reviewers now, thanks guys!


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The night Tonks asked me out, I lay awake, staring at the dusty ceiling. Kreacher was making some sort of godforsaken noise in the attic, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. There were no thoughts of her body running through my mind, simply the irrational/rational prattling one associates with school-age angst, not the relationship difficulties of a thirty-six year old.

She asked me out!

You’re a bloody werewolf!

She likes me!

You’re flat broke! She’d have to pay for dinner!

But she likes me!

Things continued along that vein for a while. I finally dozed off, and I dreamed of red hair that turned to pink.

And it stayed pink until morning.

I still hadn’t resolved what to do about my situation by the time the next Order meeting rolled around. I knew Tonks would approach me; I’d been working with her long enough to know that she was not a coward.

She arrived late, as she generally did when she did not accompany Mad-Eye straight from the Auror office, bumbling down the stairs and making muffled noises while trying to squeeze into an empty seat beside McGonagall, who looked somewhat miffed. Severus sneered at her, and I had the irrational urge to sock him in the face for it.

Luckily for her, it was Arthur that was speaking, and he plowed on regardless of the disturbance.

By the end of it, my hair was standing on end from the looks I was getting from her. Or, the looks she might have been giving me, but I may have imagined.

She cornered me out in the hall after the meeting, as I came down from seeing Mundungus to the door (he’d been stealing brandy from the pantry, and Sirius got a bit more pissed about that than his silverware that had gone missing the month before)

“Off so soon?” I said, trying and failing to be casual.

“Erm…yes…I’ve got a rather early morning tomorrow…” she said, and I could tell she was trying to work up the nerve, “But, I was thinking, if you’re not going to be busy this Friday…”

I sighed, and cut her off, “Tonks…I’m sorry…I just…can’t…”

The words felt like they weighed a thousand tons, coming out.

Her eyes did it again, went from their icy grey to brown, before she blinked and looked down.

“Oh,” she was saying, swallowing hard. I wanted nothing more than to wrap her in my arms, “I…see. I’m sorry to bother you again, Remus.”

And she left.

I was suddenly not terribly in the mood for Molly’s meatloaf.

Over the next few months, my contact with Tonks was negligible. Under Dumbledore’s orders, I had started to establish contacts in the werewolf underground, among some of the more sympathetic of my compatriots.

I still lived at Grimmauld Place, however, which had become a major hub for the Order, whether there was a meeting or not. In addition to the Weasleys, Sirius, and myself, several members would stay overnight, if they were too tired to apparate after their shifts, and more than once I would come downstairs to find Tonks and Molly drinking a morning cup of tea, which was more awkward than it should have been, especially the time I plum forgot about everything and came down from bed without a shirt.

Then, one stuffy Wednesday night in June, things got rather hot.

I was out trying to wheedle a fellow werewolf into giving me the location of the group he belonged to, which he had hinted might be persuaded to throw their lot in with Dumbledore. It was going rather well, until about one in the morning, when Sirius’ patronus dashed into the deserted pub (luckily, even the bartender had gone to the back) to tell me to “Get my ass back home if I know what’s good for me!”

I looked at my werewolf friend, who looked back at me with a somewhat drunken expression of confusion. He’d just seen a silver dog order me, with a man’s voice, to come home.

I took advantage of his drunken state to obliviate him, before disapparating.

I arrived at a Grimmauld Place that was stiff with fear.
Everyone, which included maybe half of the Order, was gathered in the kitchen, where Severus was speaking.

“…so we must assume that the boy meant the Hall of Prophecy…”

I puffed down the stairs, looking wildly around, interrupting Severus, “What’s happened?” I said loudly. My concern wasn’t unfounded; Sirius was as careful about using his patronus as a means of communication as he was about his physical self. There was too great a risk that someone might recognize his voice.

Sirius quickly spoke, keeping his narrowed eyes on Severus, “Snape here was witness to Harry and his friends get captured by that Umbridge woman, and apparently told our good professor here some sort of message about yours truly.”

I looked at Severus, who predictably sneered, and repeated Harry’s words, “’He’s got Padfoot in the place where it’s hidden.’ I remembered the stupid little nicknames your little band referred to each other with, of course. You two still do it, occasionally, aggravating as it is to those of us who have actually become adults.”

He paused and let the barb do whatever damage he intended it to do, and went on, “Then, as I have already said once, I witnessed Potter and Miss Granger go out to the forest with Umbridge, followed a while later by other students, presumably their friends. I went out to the forest myself, and after conducting a search of the area, I found signs of a struggle, and three missing Thestrals.”

“Snape here, who failed completely to do the one little thing Dumbledore asked him to do,” said Sirius, who jumped up and began pacing the room, “thinks that Voldemort planted an image of me in the Hall of Prophecy, in some sort of custody2, into Harry’s mind, to lure him there.”

“Has Dumbledore been informed?” I asked sharply.

“No, Lupin,” said Snape with deadpan sincerity, “I neglected to inform the leader of the Order that Harry Potter is heading into certain danger of his life, but I do thank you for reminding me.”

“Dumbledore said to wait” spat Sirius, a hideous look on his face, “But I’m not. I refuse to wait a moment longer while my fucking godson might be dead or dying.”

I must confess, as calm and collected as I usually am, I was feeling qiute sypathetic with Sirius myself. This was Lily and James’ son; he was our last link to them. He was becoming almost a friend to me in his own right (although I had privately wondered how to get them all to stop calling me “Professor Lupin.”) and I could not see how I could possibly wait for Dumbledore’s approval to rescue him.

I found everyone looking at me, as though I were somehow the keeper of Sirius’ decisions. I met Tonks’ eyes, and noticed that they were brown again, but almost blazing with determination.

“Right,” I said, “We’re going. Anyone who wants to come can do so. Or you can wait for Dumbledore.”