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Chapter Text

St Govan’s Inn stood alone on the cliffside, stubborn against the whipping Pembrokeshire wind. Its crooked chimney coughed smoke into a late-December sky the colour of wet slate.

Tonks Apparated into the field next door and immediately regretted it. Her boot landed with a wet squelch into the middle of a fresh cow pat, rain slapping cold across her face. She yanked her foot free only to stagger backward, straight into a gorse bush.

“Bloody—!” she hissed as thorns sank through her jeans, scratching her backside and legs. She wriggled and fought, only tangling herself further until her cloak was snagged fast. A glance over her shoulder confirmed that, thankfully, no one was watching. She muttered a quick “Reducto!” and the bush shuddered back, spitting twigs and needles across the mud. 

Tonks scrambled upright, inspecting her clothes for damage. Then she cast a quick Scourgify over her boot, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the pub with as much dignity as she could muster.

The heavy oak door gave under her shove, and she ducked inside. Warmth from the crackling fire wrapped itself around her. The air smelled of wax jackets, wet dogs, and ale. Strings of multicoloured fairy lights sagged along the low beams, and a rather sorry-looking Christmas tree slumped in the corner, its branches drooping under the weight of mismatched baubles and a skewed paper star.

The usual clientele—farmhands, hikers, a pair of dog walkers nursing pints—barely glanced up. Tonight, Tonks’s hair was cropped short and auburn, her nose longer than usual, freckles spattered across a thinner face. Plain. Forgettable. Exactly what she intended.

She picked her way across the uneven flagstones floor toward the back booth. There sat a grizzled man, shoulders hunched, sipping from a chipped tankard.

Moody’s “disguise,” if it could be called that, was laughable — a bristling grey beard and a worn leather eyepatch that only drew attention to the whirring blue flicker of his magical eye beneath. 

“You’re late,” he growled as she slid into the chair opposite.

“Cheers for the warm welcome,” she replied with forced lightness, wiping the last of the wetness from her face. “And I Apparated into a bloody cow pat, thank you very much. How about next time we choose somewhere less bleak — preferably with fewer gorse bushes trying to eat me alive.”

“I like it here,” Moody snapped, although the corner of his mouth twitched, the closest thing he ever gave to a smile. “Ale’s good, and no one gives us any trouble.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. Of course he liked it here — anywhere gloomy, damp, and vaguely hostile was practically a second home to Alastor Moody.

“You changed your face,” he said flatly.

Tonks smirked. “Went with something forgettable today. You, on the other hand—” she gave him a slow once-over, “you look like a geriatric pirate with a personal vendetta against fashion. Subtlety’s not really your strong suit, is it?”

“Haven’t been recognised yet, have I?” he shot back gruffly, though his mouth twitched again.

Before Tonks could retort, a barmaid appeared and set a foamy pint in front of her with a small smile. Moody gave a grunt that might have been thanks. They’d been coming here every so often since Tonks finished training and the staff had long since stopped asking questions about the odd pair in the back booth.

“So,” grunted Moody. “How are things?”

Tonks lifted her pint and took a sip, grimacing at the bitter tang. “Ministry’s a shambles, as usual. Fudge is clinging on like a Doxy to a bedsheet. Scrimgeour’s got Dawlish and Proudfoot undercover again, running after Sirius in Knockturn — bloody hopeless as ever.”

Moody gave another grunt, unimpressed. “And you?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Been relegated to surveillance work in East Sussex. Bloke with a library of cursed artifacts and zero friends. More eccentric than dangerous though, if you ask me.”

Moody’s good eye narrowed. “Don’t underestimate oddballs, girl. Some of the darkest ones I ever took down were just eccentric hermits — until they weren’t.”

She nodded, accepting her rebuke. Moody never missed a chance to remind her how green she was, and secretly she appreciated it. Better Moody than Scrimgeour any day.

“Point is,” Tonks went on, “Scrimgeour’s got me running entry-level errands while Dawlish and Proudfoot are off on a wild goose chase, and the DMLE lot just blunder around like Kneazles in a sack. Meanwhile, no one seems to care that the Dementors are turning—or that Azkaban’s about to blow wide open.”

“Not so loud,” Moody hissed. He frowned, and for a moment Tonks thought he might lay into her again. Instead, he gave a low grunt. “But you’re not wrong. Ministry won’t acknowledge the wolf at the door until it’s got its jaws around their throats.”

Tonks gave a hollow laugh and shook her head. “Brilliant. We’ll all be collecting our pensions before that happens.”

Moody snorted. “Pensions? You think you’ll make it that far?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Cheerful as ever, Mad-Eye.”

“Realistic,” he corrected. “You’d do well to remember it. Fudge is patching leaks in a ship that’s already sunk. He’ll throw every warm body he’s got at Black if it keeps the Prophet on side another week. Never mind the real threat brewing under his nose.”

Tonks tapped her fingers against her pint, restless. “You don’t think Scrimgeour knows? He’s sharp enough. Shifty, but sharp.”

“Oh, he knows,” Moody growled. “But he’s not about to stick his neck out. Man’s clever enough to wait until the wind changes, then come strutting in like he saw it coming all along.”

Tonks huffed. “Great. And meanwhile the rest of us are stuck babysitting wannabe Dark Wizards, or off chasing Sirius down back alleys.”

“He’s keeping you safe, Tonks. Out of harms way.” Moody leaned in, magical eye scanning the room, voice dropping to barely a whisper. “At least until the Ministry falls, and this shit finally becomes real. ”

Tonks swallowed hard. She’d never thought of it like that—never considered that Scrimgeour might be holding her back deliberately, or playing some longer game. She hadn’t really let herself imagine the Ministry falling, either. But Moody always had keen insights, which usually turned out to be correct.

They sat in heavy silence for a moment, the sound of rain ticking against the window, filling the space between them. Finally, Moody cleared his throat. “Rest of Christmas went about as you’d expect. Arthur’s finally out of St Mungo’s.”

Tonks’s face brightened. “Oh! That’s brilliant news!”

“Molly’s fussing like he’ll drop dead if he so much as sneezes.” 

 “Poor Molly — though I imagine Arthur doesn’t mind being spoiled.”

Moody gave a grunt that might’ve been agreement. “I dropped in at Grimmauld on Boxing Day. Supposed to go over Dumbledore’s security plans for next term. Didn’t get far. Place was chaos—Potter, the Granger girl, about fifteen Weasleys all packed in. Sirius, pissed as a fart.”

He paused, his eye narrowing as it fixed on Tonks. “Lupin, miserable as sin.”

Tonks’s smile faltered. “Was he?” she said, a bit too quickly.

“Volunteering for all sorts of daft things,” Moody went on. “Wants to run with Greyback’s pack. Thinks he can talk the giants round. He’s liable to get himself killed the way he’s going.”

Tonks’s jaw clenched. That sounded far too much like Remus.

“Mind you,” Moody went on, “being stuck in a house full of teenagers and a barely functioning alcoholic would drive anyone mad. But who knows with Lupin. Always brooding about something.”

Tonks shrugged. “Maybe it’s just the way his face is wired.” She shifted in her seat and took an unnecessarily long sip from her pint, willing Moody to veer off the subject.

No such luck.

“I dunno. Maybe you could boost his morale. He’s clearly fond of you.” 

Moody gave her a knowing look. She knew that look—Merlin, she’d never forget it. The same one he’d shot her when he barged into the drawing room at Christmas, when he’d clocked Remus’s mortified expression, and that damn cushion clutched over his lap.

Tonks’s stomach lurched. The memory struck like a curse—Remus’s shame, his guilt, the way he had retreated into himself and left her standing in the wreckage with nothing but hurt, anger and a hollow ache inside. 

She cleared her throat, forcing lightness she didn’t feel. “Yeah, well, he’s also fond of threadbare jumpers and lukewarm tea.”

Moody leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You are being careful, aren’t you?”

Tonks frowned. “Careful with what?” 

“You know. You and Lupin.”

“What about us?” she replied tentatively, not liking where this was going. She lifted her glass, hiding behind a slow, deliberate sip.

“Are you taking precautions?”

Tonks nearly choked on her ale. She spluttered, coughing into her sleeve, then gaped at him in horror. “Am I what?!”

“I hope you’re not being reckless,” he pressed, matter of factly. “Not with everything that’s at stake.”

She wrinkled her face in disgust, cheeks burning scarlet from both coughing and sheer embarrassment. “Alright, Dad. Merlin’s bloody beard! Since when is that an appropriate question?”

Moody sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, the magical one spinning lazily beneath his eyepatch. “Not what I meant, girl. I meant safety precautions. He’s still a werewolf. Or has that slipped your mind?”

Tonks’s heart thudded so hard she was sure he could hear it. The air around her suddenly felt too thin. Moody had a way of making her feel twelve years old again—clumsy, foolish, and completely unprepared.

“Oh,” she said at last, trying for composure. “Right. Well, you’ll be glad to know you’ve got nothing to worry about. Whatever you think you saw… was a mistake. A stupid, drunken kiss under the mistletoe. We’re not… a thing.”

Moody arched a brow. “Boy Scouts could’ve camped under that cushion. And the pair of you vanished for the rest of the night.”

Her jaw tightened. “Well… nothing happened. And nothing ever will,” she said flatly. “So you can rest easy.”

Moody didn’t blink. His good eye pinned her, hard and unrelenting. “I’ve been noticing the way he looks at you. And you’ve been spending an awful lot of time at—”

“Look, will you just drop it, Mad-Eye?” Tonks snapped, the words coming out sharper than she intended. “I’m allowed friends, aren’t I? Some kind of social life? Particularly when everyone I work with is either an arrogant prick or a crusty old bore.”

She scowled at him, but Moody’s expression gave nothing back. His magical eye whirred faintly beneath his eyepatch, ticking as if scanning every line of her face. 

Tonks forced her mouth into a sneer, but inside her chest was tight and aching. If Moody kept staring much longer, he might see it—the truth she didn’t want to admit to anyone, not even to herself. That the aftermath of that kiss had completely undone her. 

Finally, Moody grunted. “Must say. Didn’t have Lupin down as the type.” 

Tonks allowed herself to relax, fractionally. “The type to what? To kiss someone at a party?”

“To get involved at all,” Moody said, his voice turning thoughtful. “But war does strange things to people. Why, in my younger days, even I—”

Tonks threw up both hands in surrender. “Merlin’s beard Mad-Eye. Please, do not finish that sentence.”

Moody’s lips twitched as he drained the last of his ale. “Still—probably for the best. You and Lupin… you’d have made yourself more of a target. And he would’ve been a distraction.”

Tonks gave a sharp scoff and rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“What I mean is,” Moody went on, “you’ve got instincts worth trusting, Tonks. Don’t let anyone pull you off course. Not even a sad-eyed werewolf with a martyr complex.”

Tonks exhaled slowly, muttering without thinking. “Yeah… not to mention a penchant for self-sabotage.”

Moody caught her eye and frowned. Heat pricked at her ears, and she looked away, staring instead at the rain-slicked window. Droplets raced each other down the leaded glass—easier to watch than Moody, who had an infuriating, unnerving talent of seeing straight through her.

Moody cleared his throat. “So. You’ll be fine accompanying Lupin for the Hogwarts escort after New Year’s, then.”

Her head snapped back around. “What, the train?”

“Not this time,” replied Moody, leaning in and lowering his voice again. “Potter’s taking the Knight Bus. Hogwarts Express is too… predictable.”

Tonks groaned. “Oh, please. Not that triple-decker death trap rattling across the country. Can’t we just side-along—”

“Dumbledore’s orders,” Moody cut her off. “And we need an Auror with them in case of any trouble. Kingsley’s tied up with Ministry work. You’re cleared for the day. All sorted.”

A cold feeling of dread coursed through her. “Fine,” she muttered. 

Moody’s normal eye narrowed. “You sure?”

Tonks lifted her pint, curling her lips into something that passed for a smile. “Just peachy,” she said lightly. But inside her stomach twisted.

She drained the last of her ale, the bitter aftertaste clinging to her tongue, cold and slightly gritty. Nothing like ringing in the New Year with the man who’d shattered her heart—who couldn’t even look her in the eye—while she pretended everything was fine.

Perfect. Happy bloody New Year. 

Chapter Text

The Ministry was buzzing with end-of-year chaos when Tonks finally arrived on New Year’s Eve morning—late, unrepentant, and not in the mood. Her hair was mouse-brown, pulled back into a plain ponytail. No colour, no waves, no effort. It suited her mood perfectly.

Because her mind wasn’t on the Ministry at all. It was still circling the letter that had been waiting for her when she got back from the pub last night. An owl had been perched patiently on her windowsill, a letter tied neatly to its leg.

Tonks had frowned as she untied it—then froze at the handwriting.

Remus.

Her pulse had thundered as she unfolded the parchment.

Dear Tonks,

I’m sorry. I know that hardly covers it, but it’s the only place I can begin.

I should have written sooner. You’ve been in my thoughts more than you know. I hope Christmas with your family was kind to you.

I’m sorry for the way I left things—for walking away, for making you feel you’d done something wrong when you hadn’t. You’ve done nothing but offer me patience, humour, and kindness I don’t deserve.

You are bright, brilliant, fierce, and I care about you more than I can say. That is the problem, I think. 

None of this is your fault. But you deserve someone whole, and that’s something I can never be. Not now. Not ever.

As you’ve likely heard, we’ll be on escort duty together after New Year’s. I did try to suggest otherwise, worried it might be too soon. But please know I’ll be nothing but professional.

I hope—more than anything—that we can still be friends.

Take care of yourself. Please.

Remus

Tonks had read it once. Then again. Then a third time, though the words blurred.

“Coward,” she’d muttered. “You bloody coward.”

For a wild moment she’d wanted to rip the parchment in half—or throw it straight into the fire. But instead she had folded it with careful precision, as if the neat creases could keep her from falling apart, and slid it into the drawer by her bed. 

And now, trudging through the Ministry corridors, she carried the weight of Remus’s words like a stone in her chest.

When she finally crashed into the Auror Office, she found Savage lounging against his desk, a mug of coffee in hand and a smug look on his face.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Look who finally showed up. Bit if a heavy one last night was it, Nymphadora?” 

Savage was a few years older, good-looking, arrogant, but with a charm that let him get away with it. His teasing always teetered between funny and infuriating, but Tonks couldn’t deny she sometimes enjoyed sparring with him—maybe even the odd flirtation. If it weren’t for his ego (and his reputation), she might have gone out with him already.

But she wasn’t in the mood today. She scowled, dropping her bag onto her desk with a heavy thud. “Oh fuck off, Gideon. If I were going to drink myself into a coma, it’d be after five minutes stuck in a room with you.”

He grinned, unbothered. “So, how was your Christmas, then?” He paused, giving her a once-over. “Judging by the look of you, not exactly brimming with festive cheer.”

Tonks huffed, collapsing into her chair. “Just me, Mum, Dad, and Gran,” she muttered. “Quiet. Borderline tedious. Honestly, I’d have preferred Hogsmeade patrol. At least the drunks don’t ask when I’m settling down with a nice young man from the Ministry.”

“Sounds grim,” Savage said with mock sympathy. “Meanwhile, I spent Christmas hauling in that bastard Kellen Trigg. Took six of us to corner him in Dover, but I was the one who got the cuffs on.”

He gestured toward the office notice board, where a gaunt, sneering man glared from under the heading WANTED. Just beside it, the annual leaderboard gleamed with fresh updates. SAVAGE, G. sat proudly at the top.

Tonks followed his gaze, unimpressed. “Oh, bravo. Shall I order your commemorative goblet now, or hold off incase someone actually dangerous turns up?”

Savage chuckled, clearly delighted with himself. “Careful, Tonks, jealousy doesn’t suit you.” His eyes flicked over her. “Though I’ll admit, pure unadulterated sass does.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’d be insufferable even without that bloody board inflating your ego.”

“Perhaps,” he said breezily. “But where’s the fun in modesty?”

Tonks sighed loudly and pulled a stack of files toward her, determined to bury herself in work.

But Savage lingered. “Speaking of fun—you free tonight?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“There’s a New Year’s Eve party at Obscura. Goblin trance, best DJ in Europe—or so I’ve heard. A bunch of Ministry lot are going. You should come.”

She snorted. “Pass.” 

“Oh, come on!” He strolled closer, leaning across her desk. “It’s New Year’s Eve!”

“No thanks, that place is mental,” she muttered, not looking up. 

“Nah, it’ll be fun!” he persisted. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to spend New Year’s all sad and alone?”

She felt the faintest brush against her elbow—just the tip of his finger, light and fleeting but definitely deliberate. Her gaze snapped upward to find him grinning knowingly.

She frowned and shifted her arm away. 

Savage chuckled. “Alright, meet me halfway. Couple of Butterbeers with me and Proudfoot after work. Worst case, you get a free drink and a reminder of why you usually avoid me. Best case, you actually have fun and get to see me making an idiot out of myself.”

Her mouth twitched, halfway to a smile before she pressed it flat. Normally she’d have brushed him off without a thought, but after Remus’s damned letter, the attention—however smug, cocky, and wrapped in ego—was a distraction she found herself enjoying more than she’d admit.

“Fine,” she muttered, feigning reluctance. “But the moment you start boasting, or acting like a knob, I’m off.”

Savage smirked. “Deal.”

Tonks turned back to her work, refusing to think too hard about why she’d said yes. Tomorrow she’d have to face Remus again, with all his emotional distance and stuffy professionalism. All the more reason, she decided, to let herself unwind tonight—to forget everything, if only for a few hours. 

She shoved thoughts of the letter into the back of her mind. Instead imagining what she might wear, a reckless little plan already taking shape. Tonight, she thought, she wasn’t going to cry about Remus Lupin.

She was going to dance instead.

Chapter Text

Tonks followed Savage and Proudfoot down a narrow alley beside a derelict warehouse on the canal at Hackney Wick. The night had begun innocently enough—just a couple of drinks at the Ministry bar with some junior curse-breakers, followed by a curry at a local Indian restaurant. Now, three Firewhiskies later, here she was, following her colleagues straight toward the most notorious wizard nightclub in London: Obscura.

She knew Moody would roast her alive if he ever found out, and she also knew how her previous nights here had ended—messy at best, with a hangover that lasted two days. Still, she’d promised herself this time would be different. No overindulging, no getting carried away. Just a little dancing, a midnight toast, and then she’d slip home before the chaos really began.

Her hair tonight was turquoise, twisted up into two messy knots. She’d dashed home to change, trading her Auror robes for a black bralette beneath a neon-pink fishnet crop top, and low-slung jeans which showed off her belly-button piercing. She wanted to feel reckless. She wanted to feel sexy. And, Merlin help her, she did.

At the bottom of an uneven flight of steps sat a small, unmarked wooden door—the kind you might expect to conceal a pump room. Savage pushed it open, and Tonks ducked inside. The muffled thump of bass filtered through as the lobby unfolded around her.

They shuffled past the towering bouncer—half-giant, if she had to guess—towards a bored looking a witch at the ticket booth. She took their Galleons and tapped each of their wrists with her wand. A glowing tattoo unfurled across Tonks’s skin: a neon-green vine threaded with pink and purple flowers, coiling around the words The Glade.

Each night at Obscura was themed, unique and dazzling in its own way. Tonight it took the form of an enchanted forest. Towering pines streaked in violet and green light surrounded the space, tiny orbs drifting between the branches like captive stars. Overhead, a turquoise glow seeped through the canopy, casting the shifting crowd in a soft, dreamlike haze. And suspended high among the branches, a great translucent clock shimmered into view—its hands marking quarter past ten.

The bass vibrated, deep inside Tonks’s chest, layered with intricate rhythms and twisting melodies. At the far end of the glade, a goblin hunched over a sprawl of equipment, his long fingers darting with precision, wand flicking to the beat. Goblins had a reputation for perfect timing, and this one was no exception. The music was immersive, hypnotic even. 

Tonks wove after the other two, Firewhisky-and-lemonade in hand, into the crush of bodies.

“Tonks!” Grant—one of the DMLE juniors—whooped when he saw her, throwing an arm around her. “Didn’t think you’d make it!”

“Peer pressure!” she shouted back, already moving with the beat.

Savage slid closer, his hand brushing the bare skin at her waist. “Having fun yet?” he yelled.

“Loads!” she yelled back. “You weren’t lying about the music—it’s bloody brilliant!”

He grinned, lifting his glass. “To Goblin trance and bad decisions!”

She clinked her glass against his, the words echoing oddly in her head. Bad decisions.

“Last time they had it charmed like an undersea cavern!” Proudfoot cut in. “Jellyfish everywhere!”

“Department’s talking about shutting it down!” Grant shouted. “Too many Muggle complaints. Noise, lights… unexplained wildlife.”

Tonks arched a brow. “Wildlife?”

“Glow-toad last month! Someone smuggled it out and let it loose in Shoreditch!”

Tonks laughed, shaking her head. The music swelled, then dropped. She let herself be carried with it, freer than she’d felt in months. Savage’s hand found her waist again, but she didn’t push him off. It was easy, the way he touched her. For a brief moment, she wished Remus could be like that—unguarded, relaxed. She quickly pushed the thought down. Tonight wasn’t about him.

She glanced around to see Proudfoot dancing with wild abandon, all flailing limbs and grins. He wasn’t graceful—far from it—but he didn’t seem to care. The worse he danced, the more people cheered. 

Tonks recognised half a dozen familiar faces: people she’d known at Hogwarts, now laughing with friends from the International Magical Cooperation office, and a boisterous group from Magical Transportation. Everyone was loud, laughing, a little reckless—like the world outside didn’t exist.

For one dizzy stretch she forgot everything—forgot about Remus, about the Order, about the threat of war, simmering just beyond the enchanted glade. Tonight, she was just another witch on a packed dance floor, skin glowing with sweat and neon light, dancing like nothing else mattered.

She lost track of time, letting the music carry her—until something shifted. A prickle of awareness, of eyes on her. She glanced sideways and spotted him: a wizard she’d noticed earlier. Tall, broad-shouldered, white T-shirt sticking with sweat, hair spiked into frosted tips. His grin was all teeth, the kind that reeked of Stardust snorted in the loos. 

Before she knew it, he was sliding in beside her, hips angled toward hers like he had every right to be there. Tonks shifted away, polite but firm, trying to signal she wasn’t interested. But he only leaned in closer, his hand hovering near her waist.

She braced herself to tell him in no uncertain terms to sod off—

—when Savage appeared. He grabbed her hand, spinning her clear, dancing as though he’d been there all along. Shoulders squared, he stared the man down until he finally slunk back into the crowd, scowling.

Tonks shot Savage a glare. “I had it under control!” she shouted over the roar of the music.

“Sure you did.”

“I can take care of myself!”

Savage’s grin widened, infuriatingly smug. “I know.”

Merlin’s beard, he was insufferable—swagger in human form.

He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “What can I say? You look hot tonight!”

Tonks snorted. “So? Men ought to be able to control themselves!”

Savage laughed. They moved with the beat, his gaze flicking over her in a way that should have been nauseating—but wasn’t. Against her better judgment, Tonks felt a quiet thrill. Here was proof she was desirable, proof she could turn heads and keep the upper hand. 

“Don’t know about you but I’m parched!” he shouted. “Come on—let’s get one more round before the midnight stampede.”

Before she could argue, he caught her hand again, tugging her through the crush of people toward the bar. His grip was warm, maddeningly confident.

The bar was a welcome pocket of calm. Its long wooden counter gleamed under the soft glow of pink and purple flowers from an enchanted creeper that trailed above. Crops of toadstools sprouted in clusters, doubling as stools, and the air smelled faintly of Starleaf smoke and spilt ale.

Tonks yanked her hand free and perched on one of the toadstools. “You know, Savage, you’re not half as smooth as you think.”

“Maybe not.” He leaned against the counter, a cigarette dangling from his lips, which he then lit with a lazy flick of his wand. Smoke curled from the corner of his mouth as he looked her over. “But you didn’t stop me, did you?”

She rolled her eyes again, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

Savage flagged down the barman, fishing in his pocket for Galleons. “What’ll it be?”

“Just a lemonade, thanks,” she muttered.

Savage gave her a sideways look. “A lemonade?”

“I’ve got work tomorrow,” she shot back.

“Work? Didn’t see your name on the rota.”

“Paperwork,” she corrected, a little too quickly. “Scrimgeour wants a report on that weirdo down in East Sussex.”

Savage chuckled, sliding a few Galleons across the bar. Two drinks floated toward them—her lemonade, his Firewhisky on ice. He handed her glass over, then downed his own in one gulp.

“You know something?” he said, grimacing slightly at the burn. “You work too hard, Tonks.”

She arched a brow. “Yeah. Or maybe you don’t work hard enough.”

He shrugged, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Scrimgeour can wait. He’s too busy foaming at the mouth over that Sirius Black rubbish anyway.”

Tonks drained half of her drink, realising how thirsty she was. “Yeah, well, much as I’d like to, I can’t stay out late. I’ll stick around for the countdown, then I’m heading.”

“Come on, Tonks,” he pressed. “Sod Scrimgeour. I was right about tonight, wasn’t I? If I hadn’t dragged you out, you’d be spending New Year alone, crying into your lemonade.”

She snorted, plucking the cigarette from his fingers and taking a drag before handing it back. She didn’t smoke—except when she drank. “Don’t flatter yourself, Savage.”

His grin spread, slow and smug. He took one final drag, then stubbed the cigarette out, while his gaze remained fixed on her.

“I like you, Tonks,” he said at last. “You’re… feisty. Keeps a bloke on his toes.”

She blinked, caught off-guard momentarily. “Careful, Savage. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Almost?” He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the Firewhisky and smoke on his breath.

Her chest tightened. The air between them seemed charged, far more than it had any right to be. She wanted to laugh it off, to shove him playfully and deflate the moment—but instead she found herself holding his gaze, pulse quickening.

And then he kissed her. Quick at first, testing, then firmer, surer. She let him. His mouth was warm, his hands steady on her hips. It felt good—not just the kiss, but being wanted, claimed without hesitation. 

He drew her in closer, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her lower back before slipping lower still. Before Tonks even realised it, her own hands had slid up his chest, fingers curling at the base of his neck. 

Around them, the music reached fever pitch—bass pounding, lights strobing, bodies surging chaotically. The whole thing felt surreal, like she was watching herself from outside her own body: just some reckless girl snogging a stranger in a club. But she let it happen, because in that moment, kissing back was easier than thinking.

Eventually, Savage pulled back, just enough to press his forehead against hers. “My place is just around the corner,” he murmured, his lips grazing her cheek. “We don’t even have to apparate. Come on. No strings. Just… fun.”

Tonks didn’t answer immediately. Her mind was still buzzing, fogged from drink and adrenaline, and from how very easy it would be to say yes. The flat was close. Savage was fit, and fun, and clearly keen.

She opened her mouth—then closed it again. The music dulled, fading to a hollow roar in her ears. Somewhere in her mind Remus’s face surfaced.

She knew exactly how this story ended: a distraction, a warm body, a temporary reprieve. She’d done it before. It never dulled the ache—only helped her forget about it for one night, and left her hating herself the next morning.

Tonks stepped back, the air suddenly cooler between them.

“Savage,” she said, her voice more sober than it had been all night. “If I came with you, it wouldn’t be because I want you. It’d be because I’m trying to forget someone else.”

He blinked, surprise flickering across his face before he nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, softer than she’d expected. “Didn’t mean to push.”

“You didn’t.” She managed a small smile. “And… really, thanks for tonight. I needed it.”

His mouth curved, half-smirk, half-sincere. “Well, you know where to find me if things don’t work out with this  mystery bloke and you fancy a good time.”

Tonks scoffed, incredulous. “Thanks, Savage, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “And for the record,” he added with mock solemnity, “I’m bloody fantastic in bed.”

Stifling a laugh, Tonks shoved him off. “Merlin’s beard, you’re impossible.”

She drained the last of her drink and glanced up at the giant floating clock—ten to midnight. “Come on, let’s get back to the others before Proudfoot sends a search party.”

They weaved their way back through the crowd, the atmosphere now electric. People were pressed in tighter, voices rising in anticipation. Tonks found herself swept into a knot of Ministry workers, half-recognisable faces glowing in the shifting lights. She glanced back over her shoulder—no sign of Savage. Surely not off charming someone else already?

The sweet, pungent smell of Starleaf drifted through the crowd and someone offered her a toke. Tonks wrinkled her nose. Tempting, maybe, but she wasn’t stupid. The Ministry ran random detection charms on employees. Plenty of people risked it, but the last thing she needed was to be hauled in for a disciplinary review.

Soon enough, the music faded, then cut out. A hush rippled through the crowd, and then a booming voice rolled over the forest glade:

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The crowd joined in, bodies bouncing in rhythm. Proudfoot appeared at her side, throwing an arm around her shoulders, bellowing the numbers.

“Three! Two! One!”

The glade erupted in sound and colour. Fireworks burst overhead—shocking-pink Catherine wheels, rockets trailing turquoise and violet sparks, exploding spheres of golden stars that swirled together until 1996 burned bright above the crowd. The roar of voices collided with the bass as it dropped back in, rattling the ground beneath Tonks’s feet.

She was jostled from all sides, but instead of bristling, she laughed, letting it carry her. Soon she was dancing in a loose huddle with Proudfoot and a handful of Ministry workers, drinks sloshing, voices straining over the music.

She caught sight of Savage across the dance floor, now snogging a blonde witch in a glittery scrap of a dress, who Tonks recognized from Magical Transportation. Something twisted in her stomach—disbelief mainly, but with a tinge of jealousy—ridiculous really, given she’d just turned him down. But there it was.

What a bloody womanizer, she thought. She should be relieved, she told herself—proud, even—that she’d had the sense not to trail after him tonight.

The bass throbbed, lights pulsed, the crowd lost in the fever of the night. But for Tonks, reality was creeping back in. The Hogwarts escort, which had been lurking at the back of her mind all evening, now surged to the fore. Tomorrow she’d be back on duty, all business, standing shoulder to shoulder with Remus. The thought sent a jolt of dread through her, making her chest tighter than any kiss tonight had managed.

As much as she’d like to stay and lose herself for a couple more hours, she knew her limits. She’d had her fun, shaken off some of the heaviness that had been dogging her lately, and—miraculously—barely thought about Remus at all. 

She said her goodbyes, squeezed off the dance floor, wrestled her cloak free from the chaotic pile in the cloakroom, and slipped past the half-giant bouncer into the freezing night.

The cold slapped her cheeks, sharp and bracing. For a moment she lingered, letting the stillness sink in, the energy from the party still buzzing through her. Tomorrow would come soon enough, with all its complications—but for once, she didn’t feel quite so weighed down by it. Tonight had reminded her she was still herself, still capable of laughing, of dancing, of being wanted.

She pulled her cloak tighter, straightened her shoulders, and smiled. She’d be fine, she told herself.

Then, with a twist of her heel, she Disapparated into the night.

Chapter Text

Tonks woke to her alarm clock screeching rudely, in a voice that was far too grating for the hour. 

“Eight thirty! Eight thirty! Time to get up, lazybones! Time doesn’t wait for stragglers!” 

It rattled on her bedside table, its brass hands clapping together for emphasis, until she silenced it with a groggy flick of her wand.

She cracked open one eye, then the other. Dreary January light seeped through the curtains. Her mouth was dry as parchment and tasted faintly of Firewhiskey. She smelled dreadful—cigarette smoke clinging to her hair, sweat sour on her skin. Her head, mercifully, wasn’t pounding, but every muscle in her body felt stiff, heavy and reluctant to move.

Too much dancing, she thought blearily. Too much everything.

And then came the memory, unwelcome and vivid: Savage’s mouth pressed hot against hers, insistent, his hands sliding over the bare skin of her waist. She groaned into her pillow and dragged the blankets tighter over her head.

Merlin’s bollocks. She’d actually kissed him.

And enjoyed it—sort of.

Worse, she’d nearly gone home with him. What had she been thinking? Yes, Savage was handsome in that swaggering Auror way. But he was also arrogant, smug, and insufferable even on his best days. She would’ve been nothing more than a notch on his already well-gouged bedpost.

Tonks rolled onto her back and shoved the thought firmly aside—only to make room for the next one.

Remus.

Tonks groaned again. Escort duty. With him. Today.

She imagined his quiet, reproving looks, his maddening restraint, the way he wrapped himself in stuffy professionalism like it was armor. It made her want to burrow back under the blankets and not surface again until spring. Her insides twisted at the prospect of spending hours at his side. Then twisted again for an entirely different reason. 

Not nerves this time. Curry backlash.

“Oh, brilliant,” she muttered, dragging herself upright.

Moments later she was bent double on the loo, pyjama bottoms yanked down just in time. The vindaloo from last night hit like Fiendfyre. She clutched her abdomen, forehead pressed to her knees.

 “Happy New Year, Tonks,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Ten miserable minutes later she emerged, pale, clammy, and at least two pounds lighter. She staggered back to her room, nearly tripping over her own feet on the landing. She filled the empty glass on her bedside table with a muttered Aquamenti and downed the water in one go. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she grimaced—skin pale, bags under her eyes, last night’s makeup smudged across her cheeks, a few stubborn flecks of glitter clinging to her otherwise limp, lifeless hair.

The temptation to crawl straight back into bed was strong, but she forced herself back towards the bathroom, dragging her protesting body beneath the promise of a hot shower.

She scrubbed away the make-up, the smoke, and most of the shame. But when she lifted her hand to squirt shampoo into it, she froze.

“Oh, you have got to be joking.”

The lurid tattoo from last night was still there, The Glade, still glowing cheerfully among its neon vines around her wrist. Normally they faded by morning. This one hadn’t. Perhaps the party was still in full swing, she wondered sourly. 

She scrubbed at it with soap. Then with the rough edge of the flannel. Nothing. In desperation she tried a muttered Scourgify. The spell fizzled against her skin, but the neon glow somehow pulsed brighter than before, as if mocking her.

“Merlin’s beard,” she muttered. “Order duty with a bloody neon tramp-stamp. That won’t get me in trouble at all.” 

Defeated, she let the water rinse over it. At least she had sleeves.

Down in the kitchen, her parents were already dressed, and disgustingly bright-eyed.

“Happy New Year, Dora!” Andromeda trilled over the top of The Daily Prophet.

Tonks winced. “Steady on, Mum—it’s only morning, not midnight all over again.”

She flopped into a chair and poured herself a glass of orange juice, downing it in one go. Ted appeared at her side with a steaming mug of coffee and a sausage bap slathered in brown sauce. 

“Happy New Year, love,” he said cheerfully. “Made the coffee extra strong this morning. Heard you get in late last night.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she croaked, managing a smile. She slurped the coffee then attacked the sandwich with the desperation of a woman both starving and running late.

“Big mission today?” Andromeda asked lightly, folding the newspaper in half and putting it to one side.

Tonks made a noncommittal grunt through a mouthful of sausage. Her stomach twisted again. This time curry had nothing to do with it.

“Anything dangerous?” Ted asked, pretending to sound casual.

Tonks chewed furiously, buying time. “Nah,” she said at last, around a mouthful of sausage. “Just… babysitting duty.”

“Babysitting?” Andromeda’s brows shot up. “That hardly sounds like a job for an Auror.”

Tonks shoved the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, then washed it down with the rest of her coffee. “Mmmphf—exactly, no fun at all,” she mumbled. Before either of them could probe further—about the mission, or Merlin forbid, about what she’d got up to last night—she sprang to her feet.

Still chewing, she leaned down to kiss them both, leaving behind faint greasy smears of brown sauce on their cheeks. 

“Thanks—love you both—gotta run!”

She bolted into the hallway, then sat on the stairs to pull on her scuffed black boots. Her cloak was hanging crookedly from the peg, and she yanked it down, swirling it over her shoulders in one practiced motion.

“Here we go, Tonks,” she muttered under her breath. “Let’s keep it together. Try not to make a complete hash of today.”

A quick pat to her pocket confirmed the familiar, reassuring outline of her wand. Then, with a sharp twist and a loud CRACK, she Disapparated.

Chapter Text

Tonks’s arrival at Grimmauld Place was anything but subtle. She landed hard on the top step, momentum carrying her into the front door with a dull thud. Wincing, she pushed herself upright, brushed herself off, and shoved the door open—only to immediately trip over the troll-leg umbrella stand.

The house was pure chaos. Trunks and cloaks were piled haphazardly by the stairs. Molly Weasley, hair in curlers and dressing gown flapping, bustled about, fussing over the teenagers as though they were still young children. Fred and George looked as if they were mock dueling, sparks zipping across the hall, while Ginny wrestled with a trunk that refused to close.

“Oh, Tonks, dear!” Molly swooped on her, wrapping her in a soft, laundry-scented hug. “Are you all right, love?” Her voice dropped just a fraction, the concern unmistakable.

Tonks summoned a polite smile. “I’m fine, Molly. Promise.”

Molly drew back with a searching look, eyes flicking over her tired face and limp, lacklustre hair. She patted her arm but didn’t look convinced.

“Sorry about the chaos—we should have been ready ages ago.” She cast a withering glare at Fred and George, who immediately stopped firing sparks and pretended to help Ginny with her trunk.

Just then, Arthur emerged from the drawing room, a shade paler than usual, a scarf looped loosely around his neck and a mug of what looked like rather weak tea in his hand.

“Happy New Year, Arthur,” she said warmly. “How are you doing?”

“Happy New Year, Tonks. I thought I heard you come in. Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Molly’s got me under constant surveillance, haven’t you, dear?”

“Too right I have,” Molly said firmly. 

At that moment something came flying down the stairs and nearly clipped Tonks’s ear. She dodged just in time, and turned to see a bulging bag of spell books crash onto the pile of trunks with a thud.

“George!” Molly’s voice shot up an octave. “Just because you’re allowed to do magic doesn’t mean you need to send your belongings flying down the stairs!”

“Sorry, Mum!” came George’s muffled reply from above.

Tonks seized on the distraction. “Is Sirius about?” she asked lightly, hoping for a polite excuse to escape the chaos.

Molly’s lips pursed. “I’m afraid he’s still sulking in his room, dear. Had an argument with Severus last night.”

Tonks raised her brows. “Oh?”

“Severus called him a coward, would you believe,” Molly said grimly. “He’s been brooding ever since.” She paused, her face softening, and offered Tonks a small, encouraging smile. “But Remus is in the kitchen. Why don’t you pop down and have a cup of tea while we finish getting sorted up here?”

Tonks grimaced. The last thing she wanted was a cosy kitchen chat with Remus. But Molly’s earnestness made refusal impossible.

So she slipped away, picking her way through the hallway, stepping over scattered bags and half-packed trunks. She trudged down the stairs to the basement, each step creaking underfoot as if they shared her reluctance. She paused outside the kitchen door, braced herself, then pushed it open.

Remus stood at the stove, wand in hand, orchestrating breakfast like it was a bloody symphony. A tower of toast buttered itself in neat stacks, hard boiled eggs peeled themselves over a bowl and rashers of bacon sizzled obediently in the pan. 

He glanced up. His smile was polite, but Tonks caught a tightening at the corners of his mouth, betraying a flicker of unease. 

“Oh. Morning, Tonks,” he said, voice neutral as parchment.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

The hiss of bacon filled the silence. It was unbearable.

“So… how was your Christmas?” he asked finally, turning his attention back to the pan.

Tonks pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “Fine,” she said flatly. “Yours?”

“Rather noisier than I’m used to,” he replied, with a lightness that didn’t feel genuine. “But I’m sure I’ll miss them all once they’re gone.”

She made a noncommittal noise and fixed her gaze on the fire crackling in the grate, wishing she could vanish into it. 

Remus slid the bacon onto a platter and levitated it neatly towards the table, followed by the eggs and the mountain of toast. “Help yourself.”

“No thanks. I’ve just eaten.”

Her stomach chose that exact moment to roar like a Hungarian Horntail.

If he noticed, he was too bloody polite to say. He simply fetched the teapot, setting it gently on the table between them. After a moment’s hesitation, he lowered himself into the chair opposite, careful and deliberate—like he was taking the bloody witness stand.

With the same maddening deliberation, he poured them both tea and nudged a mug toward her.

Tonks muttered something that might have passed for thanks. His gaze lingered on her—no doubt taking in her pallor and the flat, washed-out colour of her hair. She gave him a thin, perfunctory smile, the kind that said yes, I know I look a mess, don’t you dare comment.

“So. Happy New Year,” he said at last, lifting his mug like it was a toast at a funeral.

“Happy New Year,” she echoed, the words escaping like a reflex. Merlin, this was agony.

She reached for the sugar—anything to give her hands something to do. But as she lifted her cup to take a sip, her sleeve slipped down, revealing the lurid green and purple tattoo, still glowing garishly around her wrist.

Remus stiffened, and Tonks caught the flicker of disapproval in his face before he masked it. Heat prickled her cheeks. She bristled, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh relax, Professor. I was home before dawn.”

A pause. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “I see.”

He sipped his tea, letting the silence stretch—heavier for the restraint behind it. She hoped that was the end of it, his little passive-aggressive jab. 

No such luck.

“I do hope you’re not planning to make a habit of this, Tonks,” he said at last. “Turning up to Order duty hungover is… dangerous.”

“Merlin’s sake, Remus, I’m not hungover!” she snapped.

“Well, you don’t look well.” His words came out quickly, as if escaping against his better judgement.

Heat flared under her skin. “Brilliant. Always nice to know I look like death.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he said reprovingly. “I know what that nightclub is like. Don’t you see how reckless it was to go, the night before a mission?”

“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” she snapped. She folded her arms tight across her chest like armour. Every inch of her was bristling. It felt like she was back at Hogwarts, being reprimanded by a professor. 

His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment she saw something that wasn’t disapproval at all, but concern. Real, raw concern. She looked away before he could notice the sting at the corners of her eyes.

“Look, Tonks,” he said, his voice softer now. “I know things have been hard for you. But you can’t let yourself slip into anything… self-destructive. Not now.”

Her laugh came out sharp and bitter, trying to cover up the crack inside. “Self-destructive? Yeah. Because you know all about that don’t you?”

The words landed like a slap. 

His mouth pressed thin. A beat of silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid. 

“That was uncalled for,” he said at last.

“Not really,” she shot back, voice fraying at the edges. “And you don’t get to lecture me, Remus Lupin.”

Just then, footsteps thundered down the stairs above. 

Remus leaned in, lowering his voice. “We need to put all this aside. We can’t let our emotions compromise the mission. All right?”

Tonks scoffed. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“I’m serious, Tonks,” he whispered, more urgently this time. “If you’re not up to it, then—”

The door flew open before he could finish. Harry, Ron, and Hermione tumbled in, chattering until they caught the tense silence in the room. 

There was an awkward pause.

“Breakfast’s ready,” said Remus, a bit too lightly, gesturing toward the piles of bacon, toast, and eggs on the table.

Tonks forced out polite greetings, then let herself fade into the background as the teenagers piled food onto their plates. The noise and clatter were almost a relief—better by far than sitting under Remus’s quiet scrutiny, or his maddening lectures dressed up as concern.

Molly bustled in soon after, handing out hats and wrapping scarves around reluctant necks. Sirius appeared at last, gaunt and restless, giving Tonks no more than a mechanical nod before pulling Harry aside for a gruff, private farewell.

Remus, meanwhile, was maddeningly composed. Calm. Polite. Together. He moved about the kitchen with neat flicks of his wand, clearing plates and mugs as though nothing had passed between them. It was infuriating—the way he could smooth himself over so easily.

Enough of this, she thought, pushing back her chair.

She forced her mind into Auror mode, focusing on the mission in front of her. Armor on. Feelings buried. She morphed, her hair dulling to iron-grey, face narrowing, eyes hardening. A tall, tweedy woman stood in her place now, sharp-nosed and steel-gazed, the sort of person no one would ever think to comfort. Severe. Unfeeling. Someone nothing like her. 

She straightened her shoulders, picked up her cloak, and strode towards the stairs. Moments later, cloaks and bags were gathered and the teenagers finally congregated at the door. Tonks ushered them out into the cold winter air behind Remus, herding them all briskly down the steps and onto the street to catch the Knight Bus.

Chapter Text

“Come on,” said Tonks, her eyes scanning the square and surrounding pavements of Grimmauld Place. “The quicker we get on the bus, the better.”

Remus raised his arm, summoning the violently purple triple-decker Knight Bus, which screeched to a halt with a shudder that rattled the windows.

A pimply, jug-eared youth in a lurid uniform leapt down onto the pavement. “Welcome to the—”

“Yes, yes, we know,” Tonks cut him off, propelling Harry up the steps before the conductor could blurt another word. “On, on, get on.”

“’Ere—it’s ‘Arry—!” the conductor wheezed, eyes bulging.

“If you say his name, I will curse you into oblivion,” Tonks muttered menacingly, shoving Ginny and Hermione past him.

The interior was chaos. Mismatched chairs had been scattered across the floor by the bus’s abrupt arrival. Witches and wizards were dusting themselves off, muttering irritably, while a shopping bag had spilled a vile mix of frogspawn, cockroaches, and custard creams down the aisle.

Tonks scanned the lower deck for empty seats. “Looks like we’ll have to split up,” she said, grateful for the excuse. “Fred, George, Ginny—why don’t you take those seats at the back… Remus can stay with you.”

She hearded Harry, Ron, and Hermione up the narrow staircase, her Auror’s gaze flicking automatically over every corner, every shadow, alert for anything amiss. Once they were on the top deck, she dropped into a free seat at the front of the bus beside Hermione, leaving Harry and Ron to clamber into the two remaining seats at the back.

The other passengers craned their necks as Harry went past, then snapped forward again the moment he sat down. Tonks scowled. Honestly. Subtle as a hippogriff in a teashop.

The Knight Bus lurched into motion, groaning around the square before giving a tremendous BANG that sent everyone flying backwards. Ron’s tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, shrieked out of his cage and hurtled to the front, wings beating frantically until he landed on Hermione’s shoulder in a flurry of feathers.

Hermione covered her eyes as the bus veered wildly, overtaking a line of Muggle cars on the inside lane of the motorway. Tonks’s stomach lurched like it’d been scooped out with a ladle. She gritted her teeth and clung hard to a pole beside her, regretting that extra Firewhiskey she’d had last night.

As the bus hurtled down the carriageway, Tonks angled her ears toward the back. The conductor’s voice carried easily, chipper and grating as he bent Harry’s ear. Tonks shot him a withering glare. 

Another BANG.

The bus leapt, hurling them backwards again, and when Tonks cracked open an eye they were now on a narrow country lane, hedgerows diving for cover as the wheels mounted the verges. Another lurch and they were rattling through a busy high street. Then a viaduct. Then a windswept stretch of road between looming tower blocks. Each jump punctuated by that deafening crack of displaced air.

At the back, the conductor was still chattering away to Harry. Tonks finally snapped.

“Oi!” she barked, waving her arm. “Over here. Tickets. Now.”

The youth swayed down the aisle towards the front. Tonks slapped a handful of Galleons into his palm. “We need to be at Hogwarts. Quickly.”

His eyes gleamed as he examined the coins. “Right you are, miss! Only—er—we’ll need to let Madam Marsh off first.”

As if on cue, there came the unmistakable sound of retching downstairs, followed by a revolting splatter. Tonks winced. A few minutes later, the bus screeched to a halt outside a dingy country pub. A pale, wobbly Madam Marsh tottered off, wiping her mouth with her handkerchief.

Another BANG and the Knight Bus launched forward again, gathering speed. Snow streaked past the tall windows, spattering the glass in front of them. Tonks’s shoulders loosened as the crooked rooftops of Hogsmeade came into view through the flurry. Then at last, with one final shudder and squeal of brakes, the bus lurched to a stop outside the great iron gates of Hogwarts.

Finally, Tonks thought, dragging herself upright.

She and Remus ushered the teenagers down the steps, wrangling their trunks after them. The air hit, colder than it had been at Grimmauld Place, and snow crunched underfoot. Tonks cast a careful eye around the deserted road, then back up at the tall, triple-decker bus. Every passenger now had their nose pressed to the windows, gawping down at Harry as though he were the main act at a freak show. She rolled her eyes, looking forward to the moment she’d be able to crawl back into bed when this was all over.

With a final loud BANG, the Knight Bus vanished into thin air. Tonks tugged her cloak tighter against the bitter wind and morphed back to her usual self.

“You’ll be safe once you’re in the grounds” she said, forcing a brightness into her voice that she didnt feel. “Have a good term, ok?”

She kept a careful watch on the tree line as the they murmured their goodbyes. Remus leaned down to say something to Harry—quiet, serious words that earned a solemn nod in reply. They watched as the teenagers dragged their trunks up the snowy driveway, Tonks letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. 

“Well,” she muttered, more to herself than to Remus, “thank Merlin that’s over.”

Remus made a noncommittal sound of agreement. “Certainly not my preferred method of travel,” he said dryly. He turned away from the castle, towards the white-dusted rooftops of Hogsmeade. “Come on. We’d best head up to the Apparition boundary.”

Tonks nodded, though her stomach dipped. It wasn’t far—but even a short trudge in brittle silence with him felt like a marathon she had no energy for. They’d barely set off when a tall figure appeared ahead, striding through the snow, scarf streaming like a banner.

“Ah! Nymphadora! Remus!” Dumbledore’s voice rang out, warm as a hearthfire. “Two of my favourite people, and on my very doorstep. What good fortune!”

Tonks summoned a polite smile. “We were just heading off, Professor—”

“Not before a cup of tea, surely,” Dumbledore interrupted, as if the idea of refusal was unthinkable. “The castle would never forgive me if I let you slip away without offering hospitality. And—wishing you both a Happy New Year, of course!”

He was carrying a paper bag that smelled faintly of citrus which he held out. “I was just in Hogsmeade, running a few errands. Madam Puddifoot insisted I take some homemade lemon biscuits off her hands—far too many for one person.”

Tonks’s stomach twisted. Refusing Dumbledore’s hospitality wasn’t an option—not without seeming churlish. Or worse, suspicious. She glanced over at Remus who met her eyes, as if looking to her for a decision.

“I’d be delighted to,” said Tonks, forcing lightness.

Remus inclined his head politely. “That would be most kind of you, Professor.”

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore, beaming. 

He led them back towards the castle, his lilac robes trailing cheerfully in the wind. Tonks followed, boots crunching in the snow, while Remus walked beside her, silent and expressionless. 

Her body ached with tiredness, and her mind had no patience for polite small talk or putting on a front. All she wanted was a bed and oblivion. Instead, she was trudging off to have tea and lemon biscuits with Remus Lupin and the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Merlin bloody help her.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore’s office was exactly as Tonks remembered it. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, throwing a golden glow across shelves that heaved under the weight of an impossible numbers of books. Funny little whirring and ticking noises came from magical instruments balanced on spindle-legged tables. High above, portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses dozed or whispered to one another. And over in the corner, sat majestically on on his golden perch, was Fawkes the phoenix.

Tonks hadn’t been in here since she was a teenager—standing in front of the enormous claw-footed desk while Dumbledore regarded her over his half-moon spectacles. Detention for bunking off Potions, perhaps. Or for Transfiguring a Puffskein into something highly inappropriate. Or hexing a boy in her year who had well and truly deserved it. Merlin, there had been several occasions.

But now, instead of gently scolding her, Dumbledore motioned her towards a circular coffee table set near a tall window. 

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said warmly.

Tonks and Remus sank into gilt-edged salon chairs while Dumbledore busied himself at a sideboard. With a flick of his wand, teacups arranged themselves neatly onto saucers, the teapot poured, and the lemon biscuits slid out of their paper bag onto a plate.

“So,” Dumbledore said, floating the tea-tray over so it settled neatly on the low table between them. “How was the Knight Bus?”

“Rather less smooth than the Hogwarts Express,” replied Remus, who was sat rather too upright in is chair. “But it went to plan. We had no trouble.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Dumbledore, taking his seat. “Do help yourselves.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Tonks said, already reaching. Her blood sugar had been crashing on the walk, and she stirred milk and sugar into her tea before grabbing a biscuit. The first bite crumbled spectacularly down her robes and she brushed the mess onto the floor without a second thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Remus—prim as a ever—his mouth twitching with faint disapproval.

She made a point of slurping her tea and dunked the biscuit in for good measure, watching his eyebrows climb steadily higher.

“I do find tea tastes better in company, don’t you?” smiled Dumbledore.

“Depends on the company,” Tonks muttered, the words escaping before she could stop them.

Remus shifted in his chair, the kind of movement that suggested he’d have elbowed her under the table if etiquette allowed. Dumbledore, meanwhile, sipped his tea as though he’d taken in every note of their exchange and filed it neatly away. He bit into his lemon biscuit, letting the crumbs dust his beard.

“These are bitter times,” he said, gesturing lightly with the half-eaten biscuit. “All the more reason to savour the sweetness where we can. Oh, do have another, my dear—” he patted his middle gently, “—you’d be doing me a favour.”

Tonks managed a meek smile and reached for the plate. But as she leaned forward, the cursed neon tattoo emerged into view again from beneath her sleeve. She tugged the fabric down at once, but it was too late.

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled with unmistakable amusement. “Ah,” he said brightly, “so the Ministry’s finest Auror has been moonlighting at a New Year’s celebration.”

“Er—something like that,” mumbled Tonks, mustering another weak smile.

“I’ve heard they put on a spectacular show,” Dumbledore went on, as if reminiscing. “One year it was a voyage through the stars—a ceiling transformed into constellations, people floating weightlessly…” He chuckled. “Marvelous chaos, from all accounts.”

“It was an enchanted forest this year,” said Tonks, sheepishly. “Lots of Ministry people went. It was… good. But I didn’t stay long.” She lifted her wrist, examining the lurid green and purple design. “Honestly, I thought these things were supposed to fade by morning.”

“Ah, then they’ve simply forgotten to cancel the charm,” Dumbledore said. He reached across and tapped her wrist lightly with his wand. The tattoo shimmered once before vanishing, leaving her skin bare.

“Oh! Thanks, Professor.”

Dumbledore’s smile deepened. “Not at all. Now I must thank you both,” he said, refilling their cups with a gentle flick of his wand. “Your mission to Malfoy Manor last month was a great success. The information and photographs you gathered—of the Death Eaters’ training methods, their new recruits—have already proved most useful indeed.”

Tonks shrugged modestly. Remus offered a small, careful smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Glad to have been of help, Professor,” he said.

“Quite an ordeal for you both, from what I heard,” Dumbledore added, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t imagine spending an entire day perched in a tree like owls was especially comfortable.”

Tonks grinned. “Well, Remus’s warming charms kept us from freezing solid. That, and his bottomless flask of tea.”

That drew a different smile from Remus—warmer, unguarded, the first genuine smile she’d seen all day. “Well, I don’t think we’d have made it out alive without your Patronus, Tonks.” He turned to Dumbledore. “It drove off Lucius’s dogs, allowing us to escape.”

“Clearly,” Dumbledore said with quiet certainty. “The two of you make a fine team.”

Tonks made a small, noncommittal noise, the kind meant to pass as polite agreement, while in reality dismissing the weight of the remark.

“It’s true,” Dumbledore went on. “I often find that the most unlikely partnerships are the very ones that end up surprising us with their strength.”

The implication stretched out, taut as wire. Tonks risked a glance at Remus. He was sat forward stiffly in his chair, shoulders squared, his face unreadable.

“You always did know how to make a cup of tea sound profound, Professor,” she said, forcing a lopsided smile in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

Dumbledore peered at her over his half-moon spectacles. “It’s all in the brewing, my dear. The secret is never to rush the leaves.” He took a thoughtful sip, then added with a faint smile, “much like people.”

Heat crept up Tonks’s neck. Trust Dumbledore to turn her half-baked quip into a kernel of wisdom that she couldn’t help but think was aimed squarely at her. She looked down, feigning interest in a stray tea leaf that drifted lazily in her cup, the whirring and ticking of Dumbledore’s instruments filling the space. 

When at last Dumbledore spoke again, his voice was heavier. “Much to my displeasure, what you overheard at Malfoy Manor confirmed my worst fears—that a mass breakout from Azkaban is imminent. I have laid the evidence before Cornelius as plainly as I could, but I’m afraid it has fallen on deaf ears. Unfortunately, the Minister no longer trusts me.”

“I can understand why he might hesitate to take a fifteen-year-old wizard seriously,” said Remus, his voice carrying a trace of relief at the change in subject. “But his outright refusal to even investigate—dismissing all the mounting evidence as some elaborate coup attempt—it beggars belief.”

“Indeed,” murmured Dumbledore. “Denial is a fragile shield. When it inevitably shatters, the danger is far greater for those who stood behind it.”

“The whole Ministry’s rotten,” Tonks cut in, her voice sharper than she’d intended. “Too many fat donations from Lucius and his lot. Sometimes I think Fudge isn’t blind or deluded at all—he’s actually trying to appease Voldemort outright.”

Dumbledore made a thoughtful sound—measured, but not quite agreement. Tonks shifted in her chair, wishing she’d tempered her words before they’d come out hot and unfiltered, the way they so often did. Under Dumbledore’s steady silence, they felt more scrutinised, as though weighed and turned over like evidence. 

“The Ministry’s failings are troubling indeed,” Dumbledore said at last. “But Voldemort does not rely solely on political blindness to advance his cause. He has always valued other avenues of influence.” His paused, his eyes settling on Remus. “Speaking of which, Remus, Alastor tells me that you are proposing to run with Greyback’s pack.”

Remus flinched at the name, his hand tightening around his cup as he drew a steadying breath. “A few of his would-be followers already trust me. I believe I could work my way close to the leadership. Learn what he’s planning. Perhaps even undermine it.”

Dumbledore regarded him with a look somewhere between admiration and concern. “Dangerous ground, Remus. Greyback knows you as a man who has resisted his influence, a werewolf who chose loyalty to The Order.”

Remus set his cup in its saucer, as though the action itself grounded him. “I’d be undercover. Disguised. Polyjuice, if it came to that.”

“Even so,” Dumbledore said gently, “you carry the mark of someone who has lived among Wizards. I am certain Greyback would see it.”

Remus’s expression held steady, outwardly calm, but he sat so rigidly that Tonks could almost feel the tension radiating off him. She wondered, not for the first time, how much of his composure was armor and how much was the man himself, worn down but holding fast simply because he knew no other way.

“If he sees it,” Remus said at last, “I’ll make him believe that I’ve chosen Voldemort instead.”

Dumbledore sighed. “The times we live in tempt us to prize courage above all else. It is the quality most visible in dark days—the daring act, the noble sacrifice. But what truly sustains us are the quieter virtues: kindness, loyalty, love.” He spoke absently, as though weighing each word before releasing it into the room. 

Tonks wondered if Dumbledore was doing it on purpose, or if it was her own restless heart that made her interpret it as more than just tea-table musings. For a moment she imagined reaching out, catching Remus’s sleeve, telling him again that he didn’t have to carry his bloody burden alone. But instead she sat there, hands in her lap, pretending the words hadn’t landed exactly where it hurt.

Dumbledore paused, a flicker of self-awareness passing across his face. He gave a wry, almost self-mocking smile. “Ah—listen to me. I’m lecturing again.”

“Not at all,” Remus replied, a bit too quickly.

Dumbledore smiled wistfully at them both, before his gaze drifted to the empty cups upon the table. “Well, then. I expect you both have places to be, duties to carry. But it does me good to see you. A reminder, if nothing else, that friendship is its own special kind of magic.”

With that, he rose, brushing crumbs from his robes and flicking his wand so the tea things stacked themselves neatly on the tray. The dismissal was gentle but unmistakable: the tea was finished, their lesson—if that’s what it had been—delivered.

Across from her, Remus was already on his feet, smoothing his robes with meticulous care. He looked professional, distant, as though none of Dumbledore’s words had so much as grazed him. Typical. Always the careful mask, always the noble silence.

They said their polite farewells, Dumbledore shaking their hands warmly. As they turned to leave, Tonks offered Remus a small, lopsided smile. But he looked the other way. 

Fine, she thought, falling into step behind him. If he insisted on carrying his burdens alone, she wasn’t going to stand in his way.

Chapter Text

Outside the castle the cold bit sharply. Tonks shoved her hands into her pockets, shoulders hunching against the wind, while Remus tugged his scarf higher, his face mostly hidden. 

Neither of them spoke as they made their way down the stone steps and through the courtyard. The silence was brittle, as though one wrong word might send it splintering like ice.

Tonks’s thoughts kept circling back to Dumbledore. Why had it felt like he was dropping in coded messages? How did he even know about her and Remus—if he even knew at all? Maybe it was simply perception, that uncanny ability he had to read what went unsaid. Or had Molly or Sirius said something? No, she dismissed that thought almost immediately. Dumbledore hadn’t been near Grimmauld through the holidays, and besides, neither Molly nor Sirius were the type to peddle her heartache like idle gossip. 

Still, his words kept looping through her mind: I often find that the most unlikely partnerships are the very ones that end up surprising us with their strength… The secret is never to rush the leaves… much like people… What truly sustains us are the quieter virtues: kindness, loyalty, love.

Nothing specific in there, really. Just Dumbledore being Dumbledore. Perhaps, she concluded, she was simply reading too much into it, wringing meaning from words that were no more than the Headmaster’s whimsical musings over tea.

Their boots crunched in unison on the long, snow-packed driveway, breath misting in the cold. Behind them, the castle loomed tall and watchful, its turrets dusted white, smoke curling lazily from its chimneys. Its windows glowed against the dull afternoon sky, warm glimmers of gold scattered across the vast stone face.

As they neared the tall iron gates, the wind picked up, blowing snow across the path. Remus glanced at Tonks from the corner of his eye and seemed to notice the way she shivered. Without a word, he unclasped his cloak and held it out.

“I’m fine,” Tonks said quickly, brushing it away with a flap of her hand.

He didn’t argue. Instead, he lifted his wand with an easy, almost lazy flick. A fine shimmer rippled over her skin, like stepping into a patch of sun. The chill dulled at once, replaced by a soft, weightless warmth.

She blinked, surprised, then shot him a sideways look. “Show-off.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I’ve had practice.”

They walked on, the cold and the silence no longer quite so bitter. Much as Tonks appreciated the gesture, a stubborn part of her still clung to the righteous anger she’d been carrying for the past couple of weeks. She’d become so used to it that it had become safe, almost comforting.

“Tonks…” Remus’s voice cut gently through her thoughts. “I owe you an apology. For this morning. I… I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

Tonks glanced at him, caught off guard.

“I was anxious about the mission,” he went on. “And I took it out on you. Which was—unfair. You were perfectly capable. Brilliant as always. I should have trusted that.”

She scuffed the snow with the toe of her boot, not quite sure what to do with the compliment. 

“Thanks,” she said at last. “And… yeah, I get it. It’s just that Christmas was pretty rough for me. I needed to feel like myself again, you know? Have some fun. Not think about… well, everything.”

“I understand,” Remus said softly.

“Sorry I got so defensive.” she admitted. “I might have overreacted.”

A faint smile tugged his lips. “And I might have expected far worse.”

She huffed a laugh, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m definitely not hungover. Just tired. And I’m going straight home after this—pyjamas, bed, and a steaming mug of hot chocolate.”

“That sounds very wise,” Remus replied. He sighed, his breath fogging the air. “I’m afraid I’m headed back to Grimmauld. Sirius will be in a state now Harry’s gone back to school.”

Tonks grimaced. “Yeah. And I heard Snape called him a coward?”

Remus nodded, his expression tightening. “For staying in hiding at Grimmauld Place. Not going on missions. Not putting himself in any danger.”

“Ouch,” she said quietly. She could picture Sirius now, sulking alone in his room, livid and wounded in equal measure.

“It was quite a row,” Remus added wearily. “And now… well. I’ll just have to do what I can to keep him from doing something reckless to prove himself.”

Tonks opened her mouth to respond, but her boot suddenly caught on a root buried under the snow. She let out a startled yelp, pitching forward, arms flailing. But before she could faceplant into the snow, Remus’s hand shot out and caught her elbow, steadying her with a firm grip.

“Careful,” he said, releasing her at once.

“Thanks,” she muttered, heat rushing to her face. Her heart gave an annoyingly traitorous skip at his touch. She ducked her head, hoping to disguise the flush creeping up her cheeks.

“Guess the tree roots are out to get me today,” she blurted, a little too brightly. “Reckon they’re in league with the Death Eaters.”

Remus’s mouth curved, not quite a smile but close enough. He gave a small nod, as though he’d decided not to tease her for the ridiculous remark.

They trudged on, the moment hanging between them like a loose thread neither dared to tug. The path sloped uphill, snow drifting high against the trees and hedgerows, soft ridges blurring the edges of the world. Overhead, the wind whispered through the trees, shaking loose clumps of snow that fell around them in soft, wet thuds.

At last, as they reached the apparition boundary, Tonks slowed. 

“Well… here we are,” she said, shrugging lightly. “Guess I’ll see you at the next meeting?”

Remus nodded. “Look after yourself, alright?”

“I will.” She hesitated, then added, “Do tell Sirius not to waste any energy on that obnoxious grease bag, won’t you.”

The corner of Remus’s mouth twitched. “I’ll try,” he said dryly. “Though I suspect he’s secretly pleased to have one more reason to despise Snape. Gives him purpose.”

Tonks huffed a laugh. “Better than therapy, I suppose. Though if he starts making an effigy, we might have to stage an intervention.”

That earned her a real smile this time—one that reached his eyes, softening his whole face. He looked down at her, hands tucked into his pockets, his hair falling forward. For one dangerous, stupid moment Tonks thought he looked entirely too handsome like that.

Their eyes lingered, longer than was wise.

“Tonks,” he said at last. “I meant what I wrote in that letter. I am sorry.”

Her throat tightened. Another wave of sadness, tinged with anger, rose in her chest. She forced it back down, and took a slow, steadying breath.

“I know,” she said quietly. “But sorry doesn’t… fix it. I can’t just switch this off, you know? It’s hard—being around you.”

Remus nodded once. “I understand.”

She swallowed hard. “I’d like us to be friends. I do. I’m just… not ready. Not yet.”

“Then we’ll give it time,” he said gently.

Tonks pressed her lips together and nodded, the lump in her throat threatening to rise. She looked at him — standing there in his threadbare jumper and fraying scarf, hair ruffled by the wind — and for one reckless moment, she wanted to step forward and just wrap herself in him.

But instead, she stepped back, fingers tightening around her wand as though that might steady her. Before her thoughts could wander anywhere more dangerous, she twisted on the spot and Disapparated with a sharp crack, leaving behind only the faint shimmer of his warming charm in the cold air.