Chapter Text
Remus Lupin’s life, oddly enough, was surprisingly… good. As good as it could be, at least, for a boy whose childhood had been cut short in an instant, a few weeks before his fifth birthday, when the sharp fangs of a werewolf left their everlasting mark on him. Every full moon brought agonising transformations: bones snapping, skin burning, and his mind drowning in bestial darkness. Yet, despite it all, his life had somehow turned out almost normal.
He’d been given a chance to attend Hogwarts. A real wizarding school, with bustling corridors, talking portraits, and the smell of old books in the library. It was more than he’d dared to hope for when, staring at the ceiling of his room, he’d imagined dreary years of homeschooling: lonely, quiet, with the endless echo of his parents’ footsteps beyond the door. But Hogwarts gave him more than just an education. It gave him friends.
Remus still couldn’t believe that people like James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew existed. That they laughed at his silly jokes, teased him about his love for chocolate, and dragged him into their wild antics. He’d never thought he’d find anyone who’d stick around after learning about his "furry little problem". He’d expected disgust, whispers behind his back, cold silence. But instead, they’d shrugged, grinned, and set about figuring out how to pull off some pranks. Sometimes Remus caught himself pinching his own arm, checking if it was all a dream.
His days were full of colour: the golden light of the Great Hall, the hum of voices in lessons, the scent of herbs in Potions, and bursts of laughter after yet another of his friends’ pranks. He had everything he’d never dared to dream of. And it seemed nothing could ruin it.
That is, until the start of his fourth year, when Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, rose from his seat at the staff table, adjusted his half-moon spectacles, and announced that a ball would be held in the spring to celebrate the school’s 990th anniversary. The news hung in the air like a spell no one knew how to undo. Remus blinked, feeling something tighten uncomfortably in his chest. A ball? It was strange. Not that he hated dancing; he just didn’t understand it. Why now? And why hadn’t his parents mentioned a word about it? He glanced at Sirius, who was already whispering something to James, clearly plotting more chaos, but Remus wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
Then, in early November, Dumbledore decided to finish him off entirely. The announcement, dropped casually by the headmaster over dinner, made Remus’s heart leap into his throat and pound so fast he could barely hear his own thoughts.
"We have decided," Dumbledore began, his warm, confident voice carrying across the Great Hall, cutting through the clatter of forks and the murmurs of students, "that this year’s Spring Ball will open with a formal dance — one in which all students of fourth year and above will participate. A splendid spectacle — rows of pairs moving in rhythm to the music under the eyes of our guests. Starting next term, Professor McGonagall will be instructing you in the fundamentals of dance.You will learn the classic waltz, the elegant pavane, and perhaps even something more modern — if you can convince her. This training will be mandatory, and I am quite certain that under her guidance, you will become true masters of the ballroom. This, of course, means that each of you will need to find a partner for the ball. This is not merely a suggestion, but an important part of our plan."
The hall buzzed with excitement, but Remus felt the blood drain from his face. His heart seemed to launch into its own dance, erratic and loud. He turned his head automatically to the right, to Tonks, who was sitting beside him. Her hair, which changed daily like the mood of the wind, fell just past her shoulders today in soft chestnut waves. It wasn’t her usual look. She only looked like this when she was tired or hadn’t slept, as if she lacked the energy even to shift. He’d never asked if it was her natural shade, but deep down, he was certain it was. And for some reason, that thought warmed him.
Tonks was… special. Wonderful. She’d been the first person at Hogwarts to figure out his secret, back in their first year, when he was still too clumsy and left traces of his "furry little problem" everywhere. She’d pieced it all together: his disappearances, the pallor after full moons, the scars he hid beneath his robes. Remus had braced himself for her to run off and tell everyone, or worse, start avoiding him. But instead, after one full moon, she’d shown up in the hospital wing with a bar of chocolate, a battered copy of The Little Prince, and a short note saying she knew everything. Back then, she’d given him more than she could’ve realised — hope that he wasn’t doomed to be an outcast. Since then, their friendship had become a kind of refuge for him: calm, steady, not as loud as his bond with the Marauders. They were his family, but their energy could be exhausting at times, like an endless burst of fireworks. Nymphadora, a name she despised and threatened to hex him for using, was different. Cheerful, witty, perceptive. With her, he could chat about books, stars, childhood memories, or just sit in silence, knowing it wouldn’t bother her. She was a friend. A good friend.
Nymphadora tilted her head slightly, and her eyes, stormy blue ocean, always alive and daring, caught his. Remus froze. He noticed the freckles on her face: eleven on the left, fifteen on the right, three on her nose. Not that he’d counted — that would be weird. It had just stuck in his mind somehow. She smiled slyly, squinting as if she knew something he didn’t, and his heart jumped, beating faster than it did after sprinting up Hogwarts’ staircases. Only then did he realise he’d been staring too long. His throat tightened, he swallowed hard, and he jerked his gaze down to his plate of cold breakfast: a lump of scrambled egg and a half-eaten slice of toast.
His stomach twisted, his appetite gone completely.
He wanted to ask her. Just walk up and say, "Tonks, will you go to the ball with me?" — calmly, confidently, as if it were no big deal. He liked imagining her beside him on the dance floor, those sparks in her eyes and that laugh he adored.
But how would it look? Stupid? Pathetic? She was too kind to say no; she’d just flash that wide, sunny smile and agree because he was her friend. Or out of pity. But Remus wanted to believe she saw him as the close friend he considered her to be, not someone she stuck with out of sympathy for his condition.
What if she already liked someone else? Someone she’d rather go with? Maybe Ben from Hufflepuff, that fifth-year she sometimes chatted with during breaks? Or one of their classmates? Remus gripped his fork so tightly his knuckles whitened, his palms growing clammy with sweat. He couldn’t take that choice away from her. Not her. She deserved to go with someone she truly wanted, and he… he’d find someone else. Or not go at all.
Through the ringing in his ears, he caught Tonks, Alice from Hufflepuff, and Thad from Ravenclaw teasing his friends, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. This was his chance to join in, distract himself, hide the storm in his chest behind his usual mask of calm. He seized it like a lifeline.
"Tell me, Sirius, how exactly are you planning to ask Cassandra from fifth year, if you can’t even say hello to her?" he teased, knowing full well how Sirius froze every time she entered the common room, pretending to be busy with something important. "Although... maybe written invitations are the way forward?"
The table erupted in laughter, but the look Sirius shot him was dark and promising, like a storm cloud. Within five minutes, a note landed in front of Remus — a messy paper triangle, clearly folded in haste. He unfolded it, and his heart gave a painful thud: Maybe you should spend less time smirking and more time figuring out how to ask your date before someone else does it for you.
Remus crumpled the note in his fist, heat creeping up his cheeks, and flung it back at Sirius with enough force to nearly hit the bowl of pumpkin soup. Sirius dodged, grinning even wider. He’d been dropping hints like this for a while now, teasing that Remus looked at Tonks as more than a friend. Which was, of course, utter nonsense. Absurd. Ridiculous.
He stole a quick glance at Nymphadora. She was sitting there, slightly frowning, eyeing Sirius with a faint squint as if she were about to say something, but it didn’t seem like she’d noticed the note. Or had she? What if she’d figured out who it was about? The thought twisted his stomach into a tight knot, and his fingers twitched nervously under the table.
Damn Sirius Black.
At least Sirius was keeping quiet—thanks to that ridiculous bet with Tonks. It had all started last month, on the day of the full moon, when Remus was lying in the hospital wing, gritting his teeth against the pain of his broken bones. He’d heard about it later from the others, out on the Quidditch pitch before team tryouts. Apparently, Sirius, James, and Peter had been teasing Tonks again, claiming she was too chatty and that the castle would be quieter without her. Nymphadora, without missing a beat, had thrown down a challenge: "Bet you three can’t last a month without talking?" They’d jumped at it, determined to prove they were "above" it. But within a week, it had fallen apart—Peter cracked, bursting into laughter over some daft photo Sirius had nicked from the older students’ dormitory.
Now, since that full moon, they’d started over, stubbornly communicating only through notes and gestures. Remus actually liked it—the silence was a welcome break from their usual racket. But deep down, he was annoyed. While he’d been stuck in the hospital wing, burning with fever, his friends had gone and started something without him again. Once more, he was left on the outside of their fun. He’d even started begging Madam Pomfrey to discharge him early, just so he wouldn’t feel like a stranger among the people closest to him. And now, watching Nymphadora pull silly faces across the table, he caught himself thinking: what if, during one of those days he was gone, some older student asked her to the ball?
Enough, Remus. Calm down. Isn’t this what you want? She should go with someone she likes.
He took a deep breath, then another, exhaling through his nose as he stared at the plate of cold scrambled eggs. His fingers clenched into fists under the table, so tight his nails dug into his palms.
"Very clever," he said, forcing his voice to stay even, with a hint of mockery, as if the note hadn’t rattled him. "At least I’ve still got a voice."
A second later, another note landed in front of him: "Shame if you didn’t learn how to use it." Sirius’s handwriting was sprawling, as if he’d meant to wind him up on purpose.
"You know, you really shouldn’t—" Remus started, feeling anger bubble up in his chest, hot and sharp. He wanted to add something biting, like "You shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong," to shut Sirius up right there in front of everyone, but he was cut off by Professor Travers’s voice. The professor had approached their table, saying something to Black about his duties to his family, but Remus wasn’t listening anymore.
He fell silent, dropping his gaze to his plate and counting in his head—ten, twenty—trying to steady the trembling in his hands. His fingers dug into his palms, leaving red crescent marks.
Why do these jabs always get under my skin so fast?
"I’ll wait for you in the corridor," Remus tossed over his shoulder as he left the room. He caught James and Peter’s nods in response, while Sirius, as usual, just waved a hand without looking up from the note he was scribbling, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Remus descended the spiral staircase, fastening his worn brown jacket as he went. His fingers automatically tightened the scarf around his neck, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. Early November had turned out surprisingly warm: no wind, no dampness, and he rarely felt cold even on the bleakest days, another lingering effect of his condition. Still, something told him the scarf might come in handy today.
He and the Marauders were headed to Hogsmeade, the first rain-free weekend in weeks promising a walk without umbrellas or soggy boots. Initially, Remus had planned to skip it; a cosy nook in the library and a new book on the history of magic were far more tempting than the noisy village streets. But then he’d overheard Tonks in the Great Hall mentioning she was going with Alice and Thad, and suddenly, spending the day outside the castle seemed... tolerable. Postponing his reading for another evening wasn’t such a sacrifice.
"Wonder what hair colour she’ll pick today?" he mused, a faint smile brushing his lips. Maybe the bright pink she wore most often when she was in a happy mood? Or that deep burgundy from the day she’d distracted Flitwick by pretending her quill had exploded? Or perhaps a golden auburn, like the autumn leaves outside, soft and warm, matching her laugh? What if she surprised him with something completely unexpected? He pictured her striding into the Great Hall, tossing her head so her hair caught the light, and his heart gave an involuntary little jolt. Each choice she made was like a small riddle he loved trying to solve.
He was nearly at the common room when voices reached him, loud, cocksure, laced with bravado. Remus slowed his steps, listening.
"Mary’s a sweetheart, sure, but dull as a numerology textbook," drawled the first voice, likely Edgar Wilkins, a lanky sixth-year Gryffindor who never shut up about his duelling spells. "Marlene, though—she’s a firecracker. Hot as a dragon’s spark."
"Hot, yeah, until she bites your head off for saying that," snorted the second, and Remus recognised Liam Bradley, another sixth-year whose hair always stuck up like he’d just hopped off a broom. "I’d go for Alice Fortescue myself. She’s got that… you know, quiet thing, but with a bit of spice. You could mould her into anything."
"Watch out for Frank Longbottom, then," chimed in the third, Jasper Morgan, a fifth-year with a voice dripping with smugness. "He’ll smash your nose in if you even look her way. What about Lily?"
"Oh, Lily’s the real deal," Edgar purred with an oily sort of glee. "Red hair, those green eyes… a proper stunner. Bit too full of herself, though—total stuck-up."
Remus rolled his eyes, irritation simmering in his chest. These conversations always grated on him. How could they talk about girls like that, like they were trophies on a shelf or potion ingredients? Crude, hollow words that made him want to either walk away or hurl something heavy at them.
"But the best pick’s Tonks," Liam cut in, and Remus froze mid-step, his heart clenching painfully. "Her name’s daft—Nymphadora, ha, sounds like some herb from a textbook, but think about it: she can turn into any girl you want. Hair, face, even her figure! It’s like having ten girlfriends in one, no hassle…"
Their laughter rang in his ears like the clang of a bell. Remus clenched his jaw, heat rising to his cheeks. He couldn’t listen anymore. Didn’t want to. Spinning on his heel, he half-ran down the remaining steps and burst out of the common room, slamming the door harder than he’d meant to. The cool corridor air hit his face, but it did nothing to quench the anger pulsing through his veins. His fists tightened, and he imagined shoving their words back down their throats.
Thanks to his heightened hearing, another "gift" of being a werewolf that he sometimes cursed, Remus often found himself an unwilling eavesdropper on other people’s conversations. Boys talked about girls, girls about boys. Sometimes it was simple, almost innocent remarks about looks or traits: She’s got pretty eyes, someone might say over breakfast, or He’s got a funny way of joking, girls would whisper in the corridors. Before, he’d just brush it off, letting it slip past him.
But ever since Dumbledore announced the ball a few days ago, those kinds of talks had multiplied unbearably. They were everywhere: in the common room, during lessons, in the hallways. Escaping them was nearly impossible. Remus overheard older students plotting who to ask, arguing over who’d "prove their taste," bragging as if the ball were a contest. Each time, he found himself wanting to plug his ears or walk away, especially when Nymphadora’s name came up.
More than once, he’d caught some upperclassman musing to their friends at breakfast: I was thinking of asking Tonks; she seems fun and interesting, or Tonks is lively, you’d never get bored with her.
But he’d never heard anyone talk about Tonks as dismissively, with such crude, vulgar mockery, as he had just now. It drove him mad; anger flared up inside him like a fire sparked by the tiniest ember, and he couldn’t douse it. They were discussing her like she wasn’t a person, but a toy they could reshape to their whims. It was wrong. Unforgivable. And all he could think about, as his heart pounded in his chest, was that Tonks deserved to go to the ball with someone worthy. Someone who’d see more than her gift or her brightness, someone who’d see her, with her laugh, her wit, her warmth. Someone who wouldn’t turn her into a trophy. Because she deserved more than those empty, filthy words.
The door creaked behind him, and without turning, Remus sensed James, Sirius, and Peter stepping out after him. Their gazes, curious and appraising, practically burned into his back. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous tremor running through him.
"Do some blokes have to be such absolute cretins?" he muttered, tapping his foot against the stone floor and staring into the distance, anywhere but at their eyes.
Peter shrugged, looking faintly guilty, as if he’d personally insulted every girl at Hogwarts. Sirius snorted, clearly amused by the whole thing, while James stepped forward and clapped Remus on the shoulder in a friendly, reassuring gesture, nudging him toward the castle exit. The touch was warm, calming, but Remus still felt the turmoil simmering inside.
They made quick work of the walk to Hogsmeade, striding along a path strewn with yellow leaves that crunched underfoot. At the entrance to Honeydukes, Regulus caught up with them, immediately launching into a heated tirade at Sirius, who only shrugged now and then. Remus didn’t tune in—he leaned against an old barrel by the wall, gazing thoughtfully at the sky where clouds drifted lazily westward. His mind kept circling back to those vile words from the common room. "She can turn into any girl you want" looped in his head like a stuck record, each repetition igniting a fresh spark of anger. He wanted to erase those voices, burn them out of his memory. Tonks wasn’t anyone’s plaything. She was… herself. Unique, vibrant, real—with her laugh, her light that he couldn’t help but notice. And those idiots only saw what they could take from her, and it was driving him spare.
"And if you do crawl out of your shell, have a word with Jessica too. She’s driving me mad." Tonks’s bright voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Remus turned sharply.
She was standing a few steps away, and he couldn’t help but freeze, taking her in. Today, her hair was a cool blue with faint greenish strands that shimmered in the sunlight like sea waves crashing against rocks in a storm. It reminded him of a coastline he’d seen once as a child—wild, free, with foam hissing in the wind. He caught himself smiling at her, unable to stop.
After exchanging a few more quips that would’ve made Sirius clutch his head in despair, Regulus waved them off and left, leaving the group outside the shop. Alice broke the silence, suggesting they finally head into Honeydukes, and the others perked up. Remus lingered, casting a glance at Tonks, who was staring thoughtfully at the shop window, and stepped toward her as the rest filed inside.
"Well then, Tonks, ready for a sugar-fuelled adventure?" he asked softly, leaning in just enough so his voice wouldn’t carry to the others. There was something special about these moments alone with her—simple, warm, like they shared a secret no one else knew.
"Only if you don’t eat all the Chocolate Frogs before I get any, Lupin," she teased, flashing that grin—wide, mischievous, the kind that made his own smile stretch wider than he meant it to.
"How’s your day going? You mentioned Jessica. Is she getting to you that much?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and noticing how the tips of her hair had curled slightly—whether from the breeze or irritation, he couldn’t tell.
"Don’t even start!" Tonks exclaimed, throwing her arms out dramatically. " ‘Getting to me’ is putting it mildly! I’m convinced she and Margaret have cooked up a plan to drive me and Alice round the bend by the end of the month." She turned to him, pulling a mock-pitiful face, and Remus bit his cheek to keep from laughing—she looked too adorable, even when annoyed. "Picture this: they were waiting for us right outside the dorm this morning!"
"Right outside?" he echoed, raising his eyebrows, fighting back a grin.
"Yep! How else would they know we’d be up that early? I’m almost certain they overheard us and decided to ambush us before Hogsmeade."
"Sounds dreadful. How’d you shake them off?"
"Well…" Tonks hesitated, and a charming flush crept across her cheeks. "I told them Thad, who Margaret’s mad about, would be holed up in his room all day working on an essay. And about Sirius… well, I said he’s in the hospital wing with food poisoning. So I reckon Jessica’s dashed off to check."
Remus couldn’t hold it in—he laughed, looking down at her. Her fib was so perfectly her—bold, a bit chaotic, but bloody clever.
"If Jessica spreads that round Sirius’s fan club, he’ll owe you one," he chuckled. "Me too. Might be the first day we can wander about without a mob of squealing admirers."
"Why are girls so… overly keen sometimes?" Tonks sighed with mock despair, rolling her eyes.
"Don’t think boys are much better," Remus said with a grimace, holding the door to Honeydukes open for her. Those words from the common room flashed through his mind again, and he clenched his jaw to keep the anger from showing.
"Well, most of the boys around you are at least quiet," Tonks tossed back, stepping inside. She turned, shooting him that signature cheeky grin. "So you owe me for that, Lupin." And with that, she vanished behind the counters, leaving him at the entrance.
Remus’s smile widened, a strange, almost weightless warmth spreading through his chest. It was always like this with her—one look, one quip, and the whole world felt a bit brighter.
He stepped into Honeydukes, scanning the shelves lined with colourful packages. His hand drifted to the Chocolate Frogs—he loved their bittersweet taste and the little thrill of opening the card. But after turning the box over in his hands, he sighed and set it back. Maybe he should save his coins?
Ever since Remus started at Hogwarts, his parents had moved to a small Muggle village in northern Britain. They’d found a permanent home there and even made friends, which genuinely delighted Remus—the laughter in their letters sounded as though the weight of his "furry little problem" had finally lightened a bit. One of their new acquaintances, the owner of the local pub, offered Remus a summer job. He’d agreed without hesitation. Living off his parents when most of their savings already went toward his potions and treatments was more than he could bear. All summer, except for the days before and after full moons, he worked behind the bar. The owner, a kind-hearted old man named Tom, just shrugged at his "sick days" and asked no questions—Remus had warned him about a "chronic illness" beforehand, and that was enough.
The tips were decent. With his sharp hearing, he could catch when customers called him to their table or waved from the bar, even if they barely whispered. "You’re some kind of wizard," the regulars would joke, and Remus would force a smile, hiding the irony. By the start of the school year, he’d saved enough to buy his supplies and even keep a little for himself. Now he had money for sweets or books, but he held back. This was the first year he could spend his own earnings on Christmas gifts for his friends—real ones, from him, not his parents. He wanted to thank them for sticking by him despite his secret, and that desire outweighed his craving for chocolate.
Leaving the Chocolate Frogs behind, he approached a basket of lemon drops and scooped up a small handful. He couldn’t stand them himself—the mix of sweet and sour made him wince, his tongue curling up in protest. But Nymphadora loved them. He pictured her popping one into her mouth, squinting at the tartness and laughing, and the corners of his lips twitched. How could he not get them?
After grabbing the lemon drops for Tonks, Remus decided to wait for the others outside. The shop was getting too crowded and stuffy—the sweet scent of caramel mingled with the buzz of voices, and it felt like the walls were closing in. Stepping out, he breathed in the cool November air, tinged with the smell of fallen leaves, and his shoulders relaxed on their own. The quiet of the street was a balm after the noise inside.
"Remus, hi!" Olivia exclaimed, bounding over with a wide smile.
Olivia was a year below him, in Ravenclaw. She was sweet and open, with long, wavy red hair and a habit of talking nonstop. Remus liked her genuine eagerness to learn—she often cornered him in the library, fidgeting with parchment and begging him to explain homework. True, she jumped from subject to subject without settling on a favourite, and her enthusiasm could feel chaotic at times. But at least she tried, unlike those who just copied off others.
"Hi! How are you? Is something wrong?"
"Everything’s great!" she assured him, bouncing on her toes with excitement. "Listen, I wanted to ask… You’ve read Flitwick’s Fundamentals of Charms, right? That old book everyone’s always snatching from the library? I borrowed it last week, but the formulas are so tricky! Especially the Levitation Charm—I’ve tried three times, and my feather just twitches instead of floating. What do you think? Is it my wand movement? Or maybe I’m using the wrong tone? And there was something about casting charms at a distance, but I didn’t get it at all. Have you done that?"
Remus nodded, offering a small smile as he tried to keep up with her flood of words.
"Yeah, it might be your wrist. Try a sharper flick."
"Oh, I knew it!" She clapped her hands, oblivious to his brevity. "And I’ve been digging into History of Magic too—there’s this bit about the goblin rebellion of 1612… Why did they even attack Hogsmeade? The textbook says it was about taxes, but that’s weird. Did they really think they’d win? And why didn’t the wizards just charm them and be done with it? I spent all evening on it and still don’t get it. Got any ideas?"
"Probably pride," he shrugged. "And bad negotiations."
"Oh, yeah, probably!" Olivia beamed as if he’d unveiled some grand secret. "You always explain things so well, even in a few words. Hey, have you thought about the ball yet? It’s coming up soon, right? I keep wondering what it’ll be like, with the dancing and everything… Are you asking someone? Or has someone asked you? No, you’d probably tell me. Or maybe you wouldn’t? Oh, never mind! I’m thinking of asking James—you know, Potter. He’s just… well, he’s brilliant, isn’t he? Funny, great at Quidditch, and all that… What do you think, would he say yes? Or is he already going with someone? You’re his mate, you’d know! I spent all last night trying to figure out how to ask him, but I haven’t decided. Should I just go up and say it? Or write a note? What if he thinks I’m weird?"
Her voice rang in his ears, and Remus felt a gentle wave of exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket. At first, her energy had been amusing, but now, after the noise of the shop and those vile common room conversations, he realised he wasn’t up for this torrent of words. He craved quiet, peace—not another chat demanding his focus and answers.
"I think he’d be flattered. Just ask him," he said, aiming for friendly, though his voice came out a tad tighter than usual.
"Really?" Olivia bounced, oblivious to his restraint. "Oh, and I heard there’ll be live music at the ball—what do you reckon it’ll be? Magical violins, maybe? Or a whole orchestra? I’d love to dance, but I’m rubbish at it—what if I step on his toes? Do you dance, Remus? Oh, are you going with someone, or…"
Remus could barely keep up—her voice blurred into a dull hum, mingling with the rustle of leaves under passing feet and the distant chime of village bells. Questions about the ball, James, dresses, and dancing poured over him like relentless autumn rain, and he felt his patience wearing thin. His eyes stung faintly from tiredness, and his mind drifted—maybe to the library with a cup of tea and a book, where no one demanded words from him. He nodded again, hardly aware of what he was agreeing to, when a flicker of movement by Honeydukes caught his eye.
There stood Tonks, slightly dishevelled from the shop, clutching a paper bag. Her blue hair with its greenish streaks danced in the breeze, and her fingers fidgeted with the bag’s edge. She was looking his way, and for a split second, her face twisted—brows knitting, lips trembling, a sharp, almost pained glint in her eyes—but Remus couldn’t place it before she looked away, stepping aside. Suddenly, he knew he didn’t want her to leave. Not now, when her presence could pull him out of this draining whirlpool of chatter.
"Tonks!" he shouted, hoping she'd notice.
Their eyes met, and without thinking, he widened his, letting raw desperation flood his expression. He mouthed silently, "Save me." barely moving his lips but trusting she’d catch it. Then he tilted his head slightly toward Olivia, still rattling on about orchestras and dance-floor fears, and added, "Please." It wasn’t just a request—it was a plea, steeped in exhaustion and the hope that she’d come through for him, as she always did.
Tonks blinked, her lashes fluttering, and for a moment he worried she’d missed it. But then her left brow arched—that gesture he adored—and the corner of her mouth twitched into a faint, oh-so-familiar mischievous smirk. Her gaze softened, sparks dancing brighter in her eyes, and Remus felt the tension in his chest melt like ice under sunlight. She’d understood.
"Oh, Remus! Thank Merlin you’re here! I really need you!" she called out, bounding over with exaggerated gusto and grabbing his arm. Her fingers were warm as she tugged him toward her, cutting off Olivia’s endless stream of words mid-flow.
"Is something wrong?" Olivia asked, her voice faltering as her red curls glinted in the fading sunlight.
"Oh, no—" Tonks began, flicking a quick glance at Remus. He shot her another pleading look, and she pressed on: "Well, yes. Yes, actually, something's come up, and we really do have to go."
"I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Olivia," she said, offering a hand with a gentle smile. "And you’re Nymphadora?"
Remus caught the grimace that flashed across Tonks’s face at her full name and jumped in swiftly: "This is Tonks. She doesn’t like her full name used." He gave her a warm smile, gratitude washing away his exhaustion. "You said we needed to go?"
"Oh—yes, we really must go. Something terrible's happened," Tonks nodded, grabbing his hand again and giving it a light squeeze, as if checking he was alright. "We’ve got to run."
"What happened?" Olivia pressed, stepping closer.
"Peter fell down a hill and—well—we think he’s broken his leg. A really nasty break! Awful, truly! James and Sirius don’t think they can handle it on their own. Remus is absolutely needed," Tonks blurted out with such gusto and conviction that Remus froze, staring at her. Her voice trembled with panic, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Had something actually happened to Peter while he’d been out here? Was that why she’d looked upset by the shop?
"Oh no! I hope he’ll be alright!" Olivia gasped, pressing her hands to her face. "How did it happen? Did he trip? Or did someone push him? Oh, poor Peter, he’s so clumsy—I saw him spill juice all over himself in Potions once, and…"
"So do I! See you!" Tonks cut in, waving at Olivia and dragging Remus away before she could unleash another barrage of questions.
Remus felt Nymphadora pulling him along, her grip firm as she led him confidently around the corner of Honeydukes. Her fingers clasped his wrist tightly, and he quickened his pace to keep up. They stopped in a narrow alley, hidden from passersby, and only then did she let go, catching her breath slightly.
"Peter broke his leg?" Remus burst out the moment they were alone, eyeing her with faint disbelief.
"It was the first thing that came to mind," Tonks mumbled sheepishly, shrugging. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she fidgeted with the edge of her sweet bag, as if trying to hide her embarrassment.
Remus stared at her, blinking a couple of times as her words sank in. Then a grin crept across his face—slow at first, then wider, with that spark he usually kept tucked away.
"You know, it’s generally bad form to lie about a friend’s broken limbs," he teased, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly. "Could jinx it. What if Peter really does take a tumble?"
"Oh, really? Since when did you become a believer in omens, Lupin?" Tonks shot back, crossing her arms and raising that left brow—the gesture that always stole his breath. Her tone was playful, but her eyes danced with warm mischief. "And maybe I shouldn’t have rescued you. I could’ve just walked right past and left you to Olivia."
Remus let out a quiet huff, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward smile, heat creeping up his cheeks.
"Fair point," he said, glancing down at his boots before meeting her eyes again. "Thanks for that. Really."
Tonks studied him for a moment, and her smile softened into something almost tender. She tilted her head, as if taking him in, and just then the wind caught her blue-and-green-streaked hair, sending it swirling around her face. Remus realised he’d been staring too long and quickly looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed how his heart skipped a beat.
After that, the group popped into a couple more shops before ending up at Zonko’s. The Marauders, still silent from their bet, rummaged through the prank supplies with gusto, exchanging notes and dramatic gestures. Remus chuckled at their pantomime, but his gaze soon landed on a small vial of colour-changing ink. He picked it up, turning it over thoughtfully.
How did it work? At will, or randomly?
Lately, Tonks had been even more absorbed in her drawing, often grumbling that her Muggle pencils got lost in her bottomless bag, snapped, or failed to produce the right shade. He’d considered getting her a set with a case, but that wouldn’t solve everything. What if he enchanted a pencil with ink like this? One that shifted colours at her whim, never broke, and always stayed sharp? Remus smiled, imagining her sketching a sunset as the pencil seamlessly flowed from crimson to violet.
He slipped the vial into his pocket. If he couldn’t figure out the charms himself, he’d write to his dad—he always knew how to dig up a spell. His eyes drifted further and settled on a tiny music box etched with stars. It chimed a soft melody, like wind rustling through a forest, and he instantly thought of Tonks—she’d love how the stars lit up in time with the notes. He turned to call her over, but she was nowhere in sight. His smile faded, replaced by a pang of disappointment. He approached James, who was eagerly twirling a hissing firecracker, clearly plotting how to sneak it into a Slytherin’s dorm.
"Seen Tonks?" Remus asked, keeping his tone even, casual, as if it didn’t matter.
James looked up from the firecracker, flashing a grin that made Remus want to sink through the floor. Then he nodded toward the door and mimed flipping through a book. Remus figured it was probably Flourish and Blotts, nodded back, and said, "I’m headed there too."
James gave him a knowing look and winked. Remus took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and hurried out. He just wanted to buy a book. What was the big deal? Why did everyone look at him like he was about to confess his love to the bookshop clerk?
Stepping into Flourish and Blotts, he remembered he’d actually been meaning to pick up "Shields and Shadows: Defensive Magic Basics". Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons this year were painfully dull—endless lectures on non-verbal spells that made him want to nod off at his desk. Maybe a book could save him from the boredom. He was weaving toward the defence section when a familiar voice—too loud, too cocksure—made him freeze.
"I reckon we only won because of your support. You looked… quite striking with that banner."
Remus tensed, his fingers gripping the edge of his robe. He knew that voice—Benjamin Faulkner, a fifth-year Hufflepuff, Quidditch team star. Remus had overheard him boasting in the Great Hall about wanting to ask Tonks to the ball. But it couldn’t be her. Not now. Not with him.
"Oh, I don’t know, maybe you just played well," Nymphadora mumbled, and Remus nearly groaned aloud.
Why her? Out of every girl at Hogwarts, why did this broad-shouldered, perpetually grinning Quidditch hero pick Tonks? Why not Alice, with her quiet charm? Or Mary, who blushed at his mere glance? Anyone but her! Remus cautiously peered around the bookshelf, his heart pounding in his throat. Ben was standing closer to her than he should’ve been, while Tonks clutched two books to her chest like a shield. Her cheeks were faintly pink, and her hair… When had it turned bright pink? Just moments ago, it had been blue with green streaks—he could still see them shimmering in the sunlight outside Honeydukes. Was it because of Ben? Was she happy to see him? Did she fancy him? The thought twisted something inside him, like an icy hand clamping around his ribs.
"Perhaps, but I still noticed you were the first one on the stands. Those streaks in your hair… I can’t imagine anyone else standing out like that," Ben faltered, and for the first time in Remus’s memory, the smug loudmouth sounded flustered. "Listen, I wanted to ask..."
Remus froze, his breath catching. Was Ben about to ask her? Right now? Before Remus even had a chance to try? All his noble thoughts—giving her freedom, not interfering, letting her choose—flew out of his head faster than a Snitch bolting off at a match.
His feet moved forward on their own, though he still didn’t know what he’d say. He just knew he had to stop this.
Now.
"How about we…?"
"Tonks! Thank Merlin I found you," Remus cut in, wedging himself between them with a strained smile that he hoped masked his panic. He caught her startled look and blurted the first thing that came to mind: "I need your help, something’s happened!"
"Happened? What’s going on?" she asked, a flicker of worry in her voice.
"Peter fell down a hill—might’ve broken his leg," Remus said, hoping she’d recall her own morning fib about Peter and catch the hint.
"Is this… is this because of what I said earlier?" Tonks whispered, her face twisting with alarm. She looked so distressed that Remus thought he saw tears glisten in her eyes. It was too convincing, even for her acting skills. Then it hit him.
Idiot, she thinks she actually jinxed Peter.
"What? No, no—it’s not your fault," he snapped, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. "It might not even be a break. But we really need your help."
He cursed himself inwardly. What now? Admit he’d panicked seeing Ben edge toward her with that daft proposal? Say it was a joke and leave her with this Quidditch oaf? Why had he even barged in? It was stupid, impulsive, selfish. If she wanted to go with Ben—and her blush and pink hair hinted she might—he should’ve let her have that chance. That’s what a real friend would do.
Then he noticed her gaze shift—understanding flickered in her eyes. He could almost see the gears turning in her head as her lips twitched into a faint smile she quickly hid by biting her lower lip. It warmed his heart, like a tiny lantern flaring to life in his chest. Could she actually want him to rescue her? The idea was fragile, dangerously sweet, and he hardly dared believe it. But her look—warm, faintly teasing—said more than words.
"Of course I’ll help!" Tonks exclaimed, nailing the tone of alarm, though that familiar spark danced in her eyes. "Where is he?"
"Outside," Remus said hastily, waving toward the door, eager to get her away before Ben could butt in.
"Maybe I can help too?" Ben piped up, and Remus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Happens all the time at practice. I know first-aid—if it’s bad, I can—"
Always the hero.
Remus clenched his teeth, irritation pricking under his ribs like tiny needles.
"No, no, don’t worry," he snapped, trying not to let his annoyance seep into his voice. ""We just need Tonks. It’s…" He glanced away, scrambling for an excuse, but his usually reliable brain failed him, leaving a blank. "well—only she can help."
He grabbed Tonks’s hand—her fingers were surprisingly warm, almost hot—and practically dragged her toward the exit. His heart hammered so loudly he feared she’d hear it over the shop’s bustle. They burst outside, and only then did the full weight of what he’d done crash over him. Awkwardness swept in like the chilly November wind, and he dropped her hand as if it burned, shoving his own into his pockets.
"Sorry. Just thought you might need rescuing." he mumbled, staring at the peeling sign of the shop next door, anything to avoid her eyes.
"Actually, no… it was fine…" She hesitated, fiddling with her robe’s sleeve, her voice softening. "Alright, if I’m honest—it was a little awkward, so yeah… thanks for the save."
Remus felt his heart do a flip, a bloom of warmth spreading through him as if spring had barged into November’s gloom. A grin broke across his face, wide and unbidden, and he didn’t even try to hold it back. So she didn’t want to go with Ben? The relief was light, almost dizzying, and he nearly laughed aloud.
"Merlin—I didn’t pay for these," Tonks muttered, glancing down at the books in her hands, her brows knitting guiltily.
She started back toward the shop, but Remus gently stopped her, touching her shoulder—carefully, as if afraid to shatter the moment.
"That’s on me. Here—let me sort it."
He took the books from her hands, trying not to dwell on how close she was—close enough that he caught the faint scent of flowers and caramel. It was the least he could do after interrupting her chat with Ben—a chat that might’ve ended with a real invitation to the ball. Plus, he needed a couple of minutes to pull himself together and stop looking like a lovesick fool gaping at her with that daft grin.
"These two, please," Remus said to the shopkeeper, stepping back into the store and placing Tonks’s books on the counter.
"And this one?" The shopkeeper nodded at the book poking out of his jacket pocket.
Remus had completely forgotten about "Shields and Shadows: Defensive Magic Basics". He pulled it out, running his fingers over the rough cover, and glanced at Tonks’s books. He bit his lip, doing a quick mental tally. He didn’t have enough for all three—especially if he still wanted to stop by the Three Broomsticks. He wanted to treat her to a butterbeer, to see her laugh as she licked the foam off her lips. He’d have to choose.
"No, thanks, another time," he replied, setting his book aside.
The shopkeeper smiled, wrapping Tonks’s books in a neat parcel. Remus fished out his wallet, counting coins, when a voice piped up from his right:
"Where’s Tonks?"
Ben. Of course. Who else? Remus turned, forcing his face to stay neutral, though inside, everything started simmering again.
"She’s outside with the others, sorting out Pete," he said casually, handing over the money and taking the parcel.
"And you…" Ben started, eyeing Remus’s hands with a hint of suspicion.
"Just handling the books Tonks wanted to get," Remus said, aiming for friendly, though each word felt like pulling teeth.
"Right. Well, tell her I’d like to talk later, yeah? I didn’t get to finish saying something…" Ben scratched the back of his neck, looking off to the side.
"And I hope you never do," Remus thought, but aloud he just nodded: "Sure, I’ll pass it on."
He was already stepping toward the door when a thought struck him.
"Ben?" The other boy turned, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Tonks’s hair. Was it pink when you found her?"
"Her hair?" Ben frowned, clearly thrown. "Uh, yeah, I think so. Definitely pink. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Thanks. See you!" Remus waved and darted outside, feeling the corners of his mouth tug upward again.
Pink because of Ben? Nah, not likely. He remembered how she’d looked at him when he pulled her out—with that soft smile, that warmth in her eyes. That was not because of Ben. He was almost sure of it. And with that thought, his heart beat a little faster, the November chill suddenly mattering a whole lot less.
Remus stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. They’d spent the evening at the Three Broomsticks—first just with Tonks, Thad, and Alice, sipping butterbeer and laughing over Nymphadora’s tales of her morning misadventures, then later joined by James, Sirius, and Peter, who brought their usual noise and chaos. The day had been surprisingly good—light and warm despite the November chill. And Remus was glad he’d spent it like this, with friends, instead of buried in another book as he’d originally planned.
He turned to hang the towel on the rack and spotted his scarf next to his jacket—the one he’d lent Tonks in Hogsmeade.
When he’d bought her books and stepped outside the shop, he’d noticed her shivering slightly, rubbing her hands and tucking her chin into her jumper’s collar. Without much thought, he’d taken off his scarf, grateful he’d brought it along. She’d started to protest, stubbornly muttering that he’d freeze instead, but Remus, summoning courage from somewhere—maybe her gaze, her warm voice, or the aftermath of seeing Ben—ignored her objections. While she argued, he draped the scarf around her neck, smoothing it with his fingers to make sure it sat right, covering everything it needed to. Her skin beneath his hands was cool and soft, like the morning air before dawn, and he held his breath, catching her scent—fresh, floral, with hints of lavender and warm caramel, as if she’d just eaten sweets from Honeydukes.
He tied the knot slowly, reluctant to rush, though his heart thudded in his throat. When he finished, he looked up—first at her hair, still faintly glowing under the streetlamps. It was still pink from the shop, but now laced with soft golden streaks, like the setting sun had woven its rays into it. The strands fell over her shoulders, tousled by the wind, shifting with every move she made, almost alive. He could’ve watched them forever—this chaos of colour and light that was so like her: vibrant, unpredictable, captivating. Then his gaze slid to her eyes—deep, with sparks dancing in them, reflecting the lanterns and maybe something more. He didn’t want to let go of the scarf, didn’t want to break the moment, but the realisation that he’d lingered too long, that she might notice how he was looking at her, made him step back. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, hiding his burning face.
Back at the castle after dinner, she’d returned the scarf, thrusting it into his hands with a casual, "Your turn to keep warm, Lupin," before darting off to Alice, leaving him with a soft chuckle and an odd feeling in his chest. Now, lifting the scarf to his face, he breathed in her scent clinging to the fabric—fresh, floral, that same lavender and caramel that had spun his head outside. It mingled with traces of old books and rain-soaked forest, but it was still so… her. Remus smiled, warmth spreading through his chest, soft and almost tangible, and was about to collapse onto his bed when he spotted a note on his pillow.
"So, you did find Tonks in the bookshop after all?" read James’s familiar sprawling handwriting, scrawled carelessly on a scrap of parchment.
Remus rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips.
"I just wanted to buy a book," he muttered aloud, though it sounded like a flimsy excuse even to himself.
James looked up from the desk, where he was engrossed in the latest Quidditch Weekly, and raised an eyebrow as if Remus had just announced he was quitting school to join Witch Weekly. Then he made a show of craning his neck, scanning the room for this mythical book, the corners of his mouth twitching into a barely suppressed smirk.
"But I changed my mind at the last second," Remus added, shrugging as if that could mask the truth everyone seemed to have already figured out.
James let out a short, sceptical huff—like it’d been obvious from the start—and buried his nose back in his magazine, skimming an article about the Holyhead Harpies’ latest record. His fingers tapped absently on the desk, betraying that he was still half-listening.
Remus sighed, flopping onto his bed and running a hand through his still-damp hair. The springs creaked under him as his thoughts spiralled around the question that had been gnawing at him for days—sharp, like a splinter lodged beneath his ribs.
"Have you lot thought about who you’re asking to the ball?" he blurted out, trying to keep his voice steady despite the jittery anticipation thrumming inside.
No one answered. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyeing his friends with growing irritation. Peter was hunched over, chewing his quill tip and pretending to work on Potions homework, though no ink had touched the parchment. Sirius fiddled with a gadget from Zonko’s—looked like a mini version of their hissing firecracker, crackling faintly in his hands. James flipped a page in his magazine with an air of complete indifference, as if Remus hadn’t spoken at all. The silence hung thick and heavy, grating on his nerves. Sure, their mute bet with Tonks was funny—public jabs, snarky notes he could just crumple and toss. But right now, he missed their voices, their usual chatter, that chaotic warmth that drowned out his own spiralling thoughts.
Was it too much to ask?
"Come on, you haven’t forgotten how to talk entirely," he said, glancing between them, trying to hide the desperation creeping into his tone. "I promise I won’t tell Tonks."
Sirius looked up, locking eyes with him. A sly grin spread across his face—the kind that always gave Remus a bad feeling. He sighed, bracing for the inevitable.
"Why don’t you believe me? I heard you talking to Regulus today and didn’t tell her a thing."
Remus held Sirius’s gaze, thinking back to that morning in Hogsmeade. After a brief spat of words and gestures, the two Black brothers had hugged—quick, awkward, but so genuine it tugged at Remus’s chest. He’d stood off to the side and caught Sirius whispering to Regulus, "I’ll try to sort it all out." He’d seen Tonks turn to him, her eyes glinting with curiosity, but he’d kept quiet. He didn’t want to interrupt that rare moment between them, even though part of him itched to spill it to her. Besides, he was tired of the silence—of his own thoughts, sinking like quicksand—and wouldn’t have minded hearing his friends’ voices, even if they were just bickering over something daft.
Sirius’s grin only widened as he turned back to his gadget. The firecracker crackled softly, almost mocking him in rhythm.
"Fine, then I will tell Tonks you spoke to Regulus, and you’ll have to stay silent another month if you don’t talk to me for at least a couple minutes," Remus said, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "I’m starting to think I’m losing it with all this quiet."
"Or you’re losing it over a certain pink-haired witch," Sirius muttered under his breath, eyes still on the firecracker, lips curling into a razor-sharp smirk.
Remus shot him a glare, heat rushing to his cheeks, and hurled a pillow, nailing Sirius square in the shoulder. Sirius jolted, nearly dropping the firecracker, but caught it with a low chuckle, tossing Remus a look of mock outrage.
"By the way, James, Olivia came up to me earlier," Remus said casually, as if the pillow hadn’t just flown across the room.
James’s head snapped up from his magazine, eyes lighting up with curiosity.
Deciding to play their game, Remus leaned back on the bed silently, relishing Potter’s wordless indignation. He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling, fighting a grin.
"Aaand?" James couldn’t hold back, his voice cracking with impatience.
"Oh, so we’re talking now?" Remus drawled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a mocking glance.
"Don’t start," James grumbled, stumbling slightly as if he’d genuinely forgotten how to use his voice. "You know it’s not on purpose. We just… don’t want to look like chatterboxes in front of Tonks. But I get why the silence is driving you mad—it’s getting on my nerves too."
"Oh, then you’ll love chatting with Olivia," Remus chuckled, recalling her endless stream of words.
"Did she say something to you?" James leaned forward, eyes gleaming with eagerness.
"Besides questions about Charms books and History of Magic?" Remus gave a tired smile, rubbing his temple where her voice still echoed. "She wants to ask you to the ball."
"Yes!" James thrust a fist into the air, like he’d just caught the Snitch in a championship final, but a second later he frowned, lowering it. "Though… I don’t like the idea of her asking first."
"Then ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d be thrilled," Remus shrugged, hiding a slight smirk.
"I’d like to ask Elizabeth," Peter piped up quietly, glancing up from his parchment. His cheeks flushed faintly, and his quill hovered still in his hand.
"That’s brilliant!" James perked up, slapping the table. "They’re mates, aren’t they?"
"Yeah, I think so," Remus confirmed, remembering how Olivia and Elizabeth often whispered together in the corridors. "They’re always together, at least."
"That’d be ace!" James beamed, as if already picturing it. "Double dates and all that! And I’m sure, Pete, Elizabeth likes you. She’s always blushing when you’re around."
"Really?" Peter blinked, his voice wavering with surprise and a flicker of hope.
"Course!" James said with gusto. "And you, Sirius? Still set on Cassandra?"
Sirius snorted, running a hand through his tousled hair with that effortless confidence that always gave him away.
"Not just thinking—I’m already on it," he replied, grinning. "Flirting with her every night in the common room."
"But you can’t talk," Remus said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms. "How’d you explain that to her?"
"Don’t need to talk to her," Sirius leaned back in his chair, tapping the firecracker against his knee. "I told her notes are more romantic than words. And guess what? She bought it."
James snorted, flashing Sirius a wide grin laced with admiration.
"How do you pull that off?"
"Talent, Potter, pure talent," Sirius winked, and the firecracker in his hands let out a soft crack, as if punctuating his point.
"What about Emily?" Peter asked, frowning slightly, voicing a question that had been nagging at Remus too.
Emily Travers—daughter of their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who’d "casually" hinted to Sirius right after the ball announcement that he should ask her. On top of that, for the past month, Sirius had been getting letters from his parents—every morning, an owl delivered an envelope stamped with the Black family crest, and every morning, Sirius burned it in the fireplace without even opening it. That was the case until Regulus handed him one of them through Tonks and that’s when Sirius learned they’d already decided everything for him—down to a near-set wedding date.
"I don’t know what my mother was thinking, agreeing to that ridiculous deal," Sirius said, sitting up sharply. His voice hardened, a familiar spark of defiance flashing in his eyes. "I’m not dancing to her tune and asking Emily. She’s nice enough, sure, and maybe I’d have asked her myself, but not when they’re forcing me like I’m some puppet at their family gala. I’ll decide who I’m going with."
"But how are you going to sort it out?" Remus asked, raising his brows slightly, though he could already sense another of Sirius’s rebellions brewing.
"I’ll talk to Emily. Maybe she’s not thrilled about it either, and we can figure something out," Sirius shrugged, but his fingers fidgeted with the firecracker, betraying his tension. "If not… well, it’s not my first time weathering Mother’s shrieks. I’ll survive."
He visibly deflated, his gaze dropping to the gadget in his hands, and a brief silence settled over the room. James shot him a sympathetic look but quickly perked up, steering the conversation elsewhere:
"Who’re you asking, then, Rem?"
Remus scratched the back of his neck, feeling James’s question hang in the air like a challenge.
"Haven’t thought about it yet," he replied, aiming for nonchalance.
"Oh, sure," Sirius snorted, perking up and throwing him a mocking glance.
"What? It’s not like I’ve got loads of options. Girls aren’t exactly queuing up for me, you know," Remus shrugged, though inside he felt cornered.
"Maybe you’d notice they were if you weren’t staring at one all the time," Peter muttered, eyes still on his parchment, his voice quiet but certain.
"Who am I staring at?" Remus frowned, though his heart gave a traitorous thud.
"Tonks, obviously!" James exclaimed, slamming a hand on the table so hard his magazine jumped.
"I’m not staring at her," Remus shot back, too quickly to sound convincing.
"Right!" Sirius rolled his eyes with a theatrical sigh. "Tonks this, Tonks that. ‘Oh, Tonks needs my help,’ ‘Oh, Tonks forgot her books, better save the day.’ You’ve been orbiting her all day like a cat round a bowl of cream."
"We’re just friends," Remus said firmly, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the heat flooding his cheeks. "You’re making it up."
"Friends, huh?" James grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Sure, that’s why you nearly set Ben on fire with your glare in the Great Hall when he was chatting her up. I thought you’d hex his broom right under the table."
"Oh yes, and that’s why she showed up to the Three Broomsticks wearing your scarf, and you were sat there grinning like you’d just aced every single O.W.L.," Peter said, not looking up from his parchment as he scribbled something. "‘Oh Tonks, you’re so funny! Tell us more!’" he added, mimicking Remus in a sing-song tone.
"She was cold. I gave her the scarf. It’s normal — friends do that," Remus muttered, already feeling his defence cracking.
"Oh, sure, and you were looking at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world," Sirius teased, jabbing a finger at him. "I half-expected you to start reciting poetry over the Butterbeer."
"You three are unbearable. She’s my friend. That’s it. Nothing more."
"So you’re saying you feel nothing more than friendship?" Peter asked suspiciously, glancing up and narrowing his eyes.
"No," Remus said sharply, trying to sound firm.
"So you’re not in love with her?" James pressed, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"No," Remus repeated, but his voice wavered.
"Right. So if someone else asked her to the ball, you’d be... fine with it?" Sirius asked, setting aside his cracker and tilting his head, a sly smile creeping across his face.
"Well… fine," Remus said stiffly, trying to sound convincing. "If she really wants to go with him…"
He tried to picture it. First came Ben — broad-shouldered, confident Ben, who always seemed to be staring at her across the Great Hall. He imagined Ben’s hands on her waist, too close as they danced to a slow melody, her bright, shifting hair catching the candlelight. His stomach twisted — a tight, unpleasant knot, like someone had clutched it in a fist.
Then the image changed: Tonks laughing with Liam Bradley, that sixth-year Gryffindor who never shut up about her in the common room, seeing nothing past her looks or her Metamorphmagus gift. Liam, who’d never appreciate her wit, never notice the things that truly mattered.
He wouldn’t mind her going with someone else. Truly. If it was someone she really liked. But only if that someone saw her — really saw her.
Someone who’d notice the way her whole face lit up when she teased her friends, how that smile made everything around her feel warmer.
Someone who’d catch the way her cheeks turned pink when she was embarrassed, how she looked away pretending she was fine, though her voice always trembled just a little.
Someone who’d see how her eyes sparkled when she learned something new, like the whole world was a book she couldn’t wait to turn the next page of.
How she waved her hands when she talked, nearly knocking things over without realising — until someone huffed at her.
How she furrowed her brow in concentration, trying to crack a tricky charm, and that one familiar line would crease her forehead — and he’d want nothing more than to smooth it away.
How she lifted her left eyebrow when someone disagreed with her, that "Seriously?" expression that was so endearing it made him want to argue with her on purpose.
How she bit her lip when she didn’t know what to say — or when she did know, but felt too vulnerable to say it aloud.
How she laughed — that brilliant, bell-like laugh that made him feel like spring had broken through winter, and everything was warmer because of it.
And then it hit him. Slowly. Like sunrise breaking through the fog. He didn’t just notice those things. He lived for them. Every detail. Every flicker of expression. Every moment. It wasn’t just friendship. It was the thing that made his heart pound faster when she walked into a room. The thing that made it impossible to look away, even when he tried. The thing that pulled him to her side even when she didn’t need him, and that burned in his chest at the thought of anyone else standing in his place.
"Oh, hell," he breathed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I think I’m in love with her."
The words hung in the air — heavy and real.
"Well, congratulations, Remus," Sirius said, clapping his hands with a dramatic flourish. "You’re officially the last one to figure it out." He grinned like he’d just won the bet of the century. "Oh, no. Actually, not the last. Tonksie doesn’t seem to know yet either."
Remus grabbed the second pillow and hurled it at Sirius, but he ducked out of the way with a laugh that only grew louder.
"Shut up," Remus muttered — though the corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile.
James leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest with a thoroughly smug look on his face.
"Well, finally. We were starting to think you’d be saying ‘we’re just friends’ right up until graduation."
"Oh, come off it," Remus groaned, sinking onto the edge of the bed and scrubbing his hands over his face like he could wipe the realisation clean. "It doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything. We’re still friends."
"Yeah. Friends who look at each other like they’d pluck the stars out of the sky if asked," Peter chimed in, lifting his head for the first time that evening, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
"You lot are impossible," Remus muttered again — but there was no anger in it this time, just a kind of weary affection. "Can you all kindly shut up again now?"
Maybe they were right. And if Tonks didn’t know yet… well, maybe that meant he still had a chance to tell her himself.
Tomorrow.
Or the day after.
Or whenever he stopped feeling like a complete idiot for losing his head every time she laughed.