They’d been an official couple for four months when Remus first noticed a scar on her shoulder. She was getting dressed one morning after staying with him long enough to be sure he recovered well from the full moon, and she had turned away from him for a moment, and he saw it there – a shining mark down her shoulder blade. “What happened?” he asked with some concern. “Hmm?” “To your shoulder. What happened? There’s a scar.” Tonks had twisted her shoulder around a bit before saying, “Oh,” in what seemed to Remus to be an embarrassed tone of voice. In seconds, the scar was gone. She never mentioned it again, so he didn’t either.

Three months later, he saw one each on her elbow and thigh. “Where did you get those?” he inquired while they walked through Diagon Alley one Sunday afternoon. “Where did I get what?” replied Tonks. “Those scars,” he said, tapping each one gently. There was another, “Oh,” and then they vanished without further explanation. Remus said nothing.

About four weeks later, Remus lay in bed, shuddering, recovering once again from the previous night’s assault on his body. Tonks was dabbing a damp rag on his chest when he noticed a long slash straight across where her heart would be. He opened his mouth to insist that she tell him what was happening to her, but promptly closed it. If he remembered correctly, which he always did, he had figured out the answer for himself.

“You’re giving yourself scars, Tonks?” he asked. She allowed her eyes to meet his, but kept silent. “You’re giving yourself scars…for me?” Remus asked again.

A sad smile played on Tonks’ mouth. “You’re not the only one it hurts,” she replied. “You shouldn’t be the only one it marks.”