The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was quiet, save for the ticking clock and the clink of Remus’ teacup. Peaceful, until you walked in—barefoot, bleary-eyed, wearing Fred Weasley’s faded Gryffindor Quidditch shirt.

The sight nearly made him choke on his tea.

He set the cup down sharply. “What are you wearing?”

You froze mid-step, confused. “A shirt?”

“Fred’s shirt,” he clarified, voice cool but tight.

You rubbed your temple, too tired for this. “Molly’s doing all the laundry. I didn’t have anything clean. I just grabbed what was hanging on the banister.”

But Remus’ jaw was tight, his expression sharp beneath the early morning shadows. “You didn’t think to maybe ask before parading around in your boyfriend’s clothes? In this house?”

You crossed your arms, irritation rising. “It’s just a shirt, Remus. I wasn’t throwing a parade.”

Before either of you could speak again, Tonks wandered in, hair sticking up on one side, still pulling on her jumper. She paused, blinking at the tension in the air.

“Alright,” she sighed, “what’s the drama this time?”

“She’s walking around in Fred’s clothes like it’s something to show off.” Remus’ voice was clipped, colder than usual.

Tonks raised a brow. “It’s a shirt.”

“She’s eighteen, Tonks. And Fred’s—”

Tonks cut him off, folding her arms. “And what? He’s her boyfriend. They’re two years apart, not twenty. Fred treats her like gold. What exactly is the problem here, Remus? Because it’s not the shirt.”

He glared at the table, the fight draining from his shoulders but not from his heart.

Tonks’ voice softened, but her words stayed sharp. “You’re scared. I get it. You want to protect her from everything bad in this world.”

She paused. “But you don’t get to police her happiness just because you’re afraid it won’t last. Merlin knows, half the Order warned me off you, but we figured it out.”

Remus flinched at that truth. He remembered the lectures. The worried looks. The voices that told him he wasn’t good for Tonks, that loving her would only end in pain.

But he’d loved her anyway.

You shifted, voice quieter now. “I know you’re trying to protect me. But I’m not a kid anymore, Remus. I can make my own mistakes—or maybe, if I’m lucky, my own happiness.”

For a long, aching second, no one spoke.

Finally, Remus sighed, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “If he hurts you, I’ll hex him from here to Hogsmeade. That’s non-negotiable.”