"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I trust you. If you hadn't told me what happened, then it would be a different story. People make mistakes, especially when copious amounts of alcohol are involved. You didn't sleep with anyone else, you didn't have any kind of relationship--you snogged. I won't pretend to be thrilled about it, but it isn't reason enough to end this. I told you, that's not why I called things off."
Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair and leaned back in her chair. "This hurts enough as it is," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "The looks I get, the comments I hear that they think I don't--everyone is already asking so bloody much of me. Quit my career to teach and watch over the kids. Have a baby and be a mum in the middle of a war when I never planned on having children, let alone before--getting married or the war ending. Pretend that I don't know most of my students and the staff here think I'm some sort of--every awful word you can think of for a woman. Ignore what I want and do what someone else wants me to do. I am miserable, Remus, and I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally--everything is going wrong, and right now I desperately need something to go right."
Tonks felt utterly pathetic, sitting there as she teetered on the brink of begging. If she thought he didn't love her or didn't want to be with her, she would never, but she was certain he was doing it for the same old song-and-dance reasons they'd gone through a dozen times before. She didn't know what to say or do to convince him it didn't matter to her that she hadn't already repeated over and over again. Burying her face in her hands for a moment, she took a deep breath before looking up at him again, her eyes rimmed with red.
"Everyone's asking so bloody much of me right now," she repeated softly. "I don't know if I can just...go back to being friends. Before, I think so, but not now. I can't do this on my own. I'm not asking you to move in with me or--marry me or anything. We don't have to shag. We don't even have to snog if you're more comfortable with that. But I can't flip a switch inside of me to 'friends'. It doesn't work that way, and the hurt of trying to be your friend on top of everything else right now--I don't think I can take it. Please," she all but whispered. "Don't do that to me. What's prudent for you will be agony for me."