Assertion

She finds them in the kitchen, bottles of Firewhiskey strewn about, window closed, air sticky with alcohol and perspiration. They're not so much sitting as slumped at the kitchen table, Sirius apparently passed out, arms crossed in front of him, supporting his head and snoring, while Remus rests there with his elbows on the table and his hands sprawled all over his face. She's not sure if she should talk or just quietly retreat.

"Is bad, innit?"

The voice, muffled and slurred, comes from Remus' direction. Another muffled sound, a groan perhaps, escapes from under Sirius' arms as if in agreement. She doesn't really know what to say.

"Remus?"

"Is really, really bad day." His hands run through his hair as his head declines towards the table, a thump indicating that it hit the target. For a moment he stays this way, then comes back up, forehead red, and finally looks at her.

She's a bit shocked, to say the least. She's so used to his tidy demeanour that she never could've pictured him otherwise. Sure, he may not wear the best clothes, lots of stitches on them, sometimes holes, but they're washed and smell clean, of soap and tea, as does he himself, and they are ironed, even, something she can't very well say about her own clothes. His hair is always neat and his eyes friendly, if alert. He mainly smiles, and when he doesn't, it's because he's being serious about their mission. She never thought any of that would change. She never thought any of that could change.

But now, as he looks at her, his eyes are bloodshot, the lines and scars on his face more prominent than ever. There's three-days-old stubble on his chin and his hair might have even more gray in it than before. His shirt is wrinkled, sleeves stained, jacket lying abandoned on the floor. Not to mention Sirius; the little she can see of him, he doesn't fare much better. She never thought of either of them as old, but seeing them both like this... She knows the pity must show on her face.

"Are you... is everything... is everything okay?" she asks, tentatively. Stupid question, really. Of course it isn't.

It's the 31st of October, and although she never expected to find them alone and drunk or passed out at Grimmauld's, she's not all that surprised, to be honest. Even after all these years, there's nothing for them to be celebrating on this day. Children may run around dressed as witches and monsters, having fun in the outside world, but the real monsters are that of the past coming to haunt Grimmauld Place tonight.

Remus motions for her to sit, but she's not sure she really wants to stay. Then again, why did she come here in the first place? She certainly didn't expect them to go trick-or-treating with her. So she walks over to the table and sits down.

Remus supports his head with one hand, then, gazes at her serenely through glassy eyes. "How'sh your day?" he asks, smiling somewhat wickedly. She shrugs, feeling uneasy. She was having quite a nice day, actually, what with visiting her parents and meeting up with her friends which she hadn't done in a long, long time.

"It was... dull," she says. Remus laughs. She doesn't know what to make of it, so she gives him a strained smile.

"Why's you here?"

Good question, she thinks. "I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He points at Sirius beside him, scrunching up his face, and whispers, as if it was a secret, "I don shink he's okay."

"I can see that," she whispers back, equally mysterious though she doesn't quite know why. Remus laughs again.

"Y'know, I don drink mush, but today is differen," he says.

Silence.

"I know," she admits, words falling quiet at the end.

"You do?"

"Sirius told me." Her voice is barely above a whisper now. Was that ok?, she thinks. Is she off limits?

He sighs, runs another hand through his already ruffled hair. The way it sticks out at the end makes him seem wild and very un-Remus. "Wish I could go back," he says, "Make better. Save them."

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, averts her eyes because she's not sure she wants to delve into that particular subject. She's heard the story before – treacherous friends, groundless suspicion, infinite loss; it wasn't pretty then, it won't be now.

"I'm sorry," she says, for lack of a better answer.

"Oh, don worry. Won happen again," he mumbles, frowning, looking at something on the table that isn't there. There's a slight pause, then he says, voice holding something like confidence, or maybe certainty, "Won let anythin happen to anyone ever again. You safe wish me."

Something very warm tugs at her heart right then, so she looks up again, smiles. Thank you, she thinks, though for some reason she doesn't say it out loud, but for a moment she feels only gratitude.

She almost jumps in surprise when his hand reaches out and grabs hers, a bit too forceful for her liking. He stares at her, holding her eyes with such intensity, she almost pulls away but doesn't, too startled to react. "You safe with me," he repeats, and though she's figured before he must be pretty wasted, in that instant, he seems completely serious.

She opens her mouth, looks at him, doesn't know what to say. For a moment they're silent, Sirius quietly snoring on the table, then he lets go of her hand and goes back to supporting his head with it, letting out a long, long yawn, eyes half-lidded and lazy.

"Bad day," he mumbles, as if to himself, "Bad. Really bad." She has to remind her heart to keep quiet and stay in her ribcage before she can speak.

"Maybe you should just go to bed now," she suggests, voice quite shaky. "And I'll take care of him," she adds with a jerk of her head in Sirius' direction. Her cousin is still soundly asleep, grunting every now and then, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Remus mumbles something indistinct, then says, "Shure, shure."

He tries to get up, almost toppling over, and she hastily moves to help him when she sees he won't make it on his own. Together they come as far as the library, where she leaves him to rest on the couch, tugging him into a blanket like a little boy. He gives her a curious look as she does. There's something oddly vulnerable in his eyes, and she finds her heart hasn't quite recovered its natural pace yet.

When she's about to walk back to the kitchen, wondering if she should just let Sirius rest on the table and put a blanket around him, too, Remus mumbles something under his breath. She stops at the door. "What did you say?"

"Thank you, Tonks." It's barely audible, but she can still make it out. She smiles, more to herself because he can't see it, and even though something about that statement seems off to her.

"You're welcome."

When she shuts the door, she braces herself against the wood for a moment, taking a breath. Then she walks back to the kitchen to take care of Sirius. She wraps him in a blanket, cleans the kitchen, picks up Remus' jacket and neatly folds it the way he always does. In the morning, everything's back to normal, except for two Order members having a killer hangover. They don't seem to remember much at all, though. She doesn't particularly mind.

It isn't until much later that she finally realises it. What was so off about Remus' statement.

Funny, she thinks to herself, then, how he never seems to be able to get her name right, except for this one time.

On the off chance that some of you may not know about the event in question, the 31st of October is the day of James' and Lily's death.

As always, reviews are very much appreciated, grammar suggestions even more so. ConCrit may be glorified and warshipped and made into flags.

This piece was edited out of another (longer) story and was lucky enough to become a short all on its own. Thanks muchly for reading.