Chapter 30

You’re Not Her

The smell of coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the low murmur of Ministry employees.
Tonks leaned against the counter in the small break room, stirring her coffee absent-mindedly while Kingsley, with his imposing presence, occupied the chair opposite her. He was going on about the new cadets.

— Yepes is a lost cause, — Kingsley grunted, lifting his mug to his lips. — I don’t know how many times I’ve explained that an ambush tactic doesn’t work if you arrive announcing yourself like a bloody town crier.

Tonks let out a short, husky laugh.

— Perhaps if you tattooed it on his forehead… though I doubt he’d be able to read it.

Kingsley smiled, but before he could continue his rant, the door opened and a group of employees entered the room. Tonks didn’t need to turn around to recognise the silhouette leading them.

Emmeline Vance.

— Shacklebolt. Tonks, — Emmeline greeted with a slight inclination of her head, her voice firm yet soft.

— Vance — Kingsley replied with equal courtesy.

Tonks nodded, but her own voice seemed to catch somewhere in her throat.

Her eyes followed Emmeline as she passed by them, that effortless elegance making everything about her seem somehow out of reach.

Kingsley’s steady commentary continued in Tonks’ ears, but she could hardly focus. Her mind had drifted elsewhere.

To her.
To Emmeline.

A face of defined, elegant features, framed by long dark hair that fell in perfect waves down her back.
Her long lashes traced dark, penetrating eyes that radiated confidence and resolve.
Her lips, painted in a neutral yet refined shade, curved into a faint smile that never quite lost its air of authority.

The black velvet robes, tailored to fit, accentuated her figure with effortless grace. Beneath them, a navy silk blouse showed subtly at the neckline and cuffs, offering a restrained contrast.

But it wasn’t only that.

It was the way she walked. Each step echoed with a measured, assured rhythm across the marble floor.
A clear, precise sound.
Without hesitation.

As though wherever Emmeline Vance passed, she was always heard. Always noticed.

And Remus… Remus must notice her too.

Tonks lowered her gaze to the floor, to her rubber-soled trainers, silent against the marble — as if her own presence left barely any mark at all.

She thought of the afternoon before, of the easy complicity between them at Grimmauld Place, whether alone or in company. And she remembered, with uncomfortable clarity, the day Sirius had told her that story, in that careless tone of his, as though he were recounting some old anecdote of no real consequence.

“Oh, yes. Remus had a thing for her. And apparently she didn’t exactly mind either. But you know what he’s like. Never thought himself good enough for anyone. So nothing ever happened.”

Sirius had shrugged, as if the matter were long buried.
But the words had stayed with Tonks.

Nothing had happened then.
That had been years ago.

But now?

Was that easy exchange between them simply what passed for normal among members of the Order? To anyone watching, it could have looked like flirting.

She couldn’t help feeling unsettled.

War changed everything.
Priorities. Decisions. Chances.

Perhaps now, when everyone was more aware of how fragile life truly was, Remus and Emmeline might look at each other again and decide not to let it slip away this time.

And then…

Would Remus remain behind his walls, as he always did?

Or would he finally step beyond them… to meet someone from his past?

It was absurd to feel jealous over something that had never happened — something she had no proof might ever happen — and yet she couldn’t stop herself.

— Tonks.

Kingsley’s low, stern tone pulled her sharply from her thoughts.

— Huh?

He raised an eyebrow.

— I’m talking to you. Where were you?

She blinked, feeling like an idiot.

— Oh… sorry. I was thinking about… er… Yepes. Yes. About what a disaster he is.

— I was talking about Dawlish now, — Kingsley said, studying her in silence, though there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

— Dawlish, right… sorry. I’m always thinking about Dawlish.

Kingsley let out a short laugh.

— If you were thinking about Dawlish, you’d look irritated, not like you’re having some philosophical revelation.

Tonks shifted in her seat and took a sip of coffee to hide behind it.

— Well… I dislike him on several levels.

Kingsley regarded her with mild suspicion, but didn’t press the matter.

Tonks set her cup down and, without meaning to, her gaze drifted to the large window at the far end of the room, which reflected her image back at her.

Pink hair, dull as usual. Faded jeans, a checked shirt, worn trainers. She looked like a blurred smudge against the glass, a figure without clear edges.

And just behind Kingsley and herself, like an inevitable presence, she could see Emmeline. The black velvet of her robes. The soft waves of her hair. Her straight, assured posture.

Even her distant reflection seemed sharper.

Tonks exhaled quietly. She felt little more than a girl beside Emmeline.

Emmeline was the prototype of a strong woman. Confident. Composed. Grown.

Of course Remus would be drawn to her. How could he not?

She couldn’t blame him. In fact, she understood it.

Emmeline was simply… perfect.

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Tonks appeared at the door of Headquarters with a sigh.

It had been a long day, and although her mind insisted she ought to go home and sleep, her body had brought her there almost on instinct.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected to find.

The moment she stepped inside, she saw Remus Lupin in the corridor. He looked up when he noticed her.

Tonks felt a tightening in her chest. Vulnerability. Uncertainty.

— Tonks — he said with a warm smile. — I haven’t seen you in days. We keep missing each other.

He took a step towards her, and Tonks had to remind herself that breathing was not optional.

For a moment, she said nothing. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the words slipped through her fingers, awkward and elusive, like her own reflection earlier that day.

She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to regain composure, and managed a smile.

— Yes, well. You know how it is. Missions, reports, bad people trying to do bad things… the usual.

Remus tilted his head slightly, that patient look in his eyes suggesting he could see beyond the surface of her words. As though he sensed something different.

A faint warmth rose to Tonks’ cheeks, and she silently hoped he wouldn’t notice her discomfort.

— Well, you’ve arrived just in time — a voice interrupted from behind them.

Sirius appeared in the corridor, a glass in hand and a roguish grin on his face.

— In time for what? — Tonks asked, raising an eyebrow.

— To save us from terminal boredom. This man — he gestured towards Remus with his glass — was becoming unbearably solemn again.

Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation.

— We were discussing serious matters. The Order’s next moves, the werewolves, the—

— Exactly! — Sirius cut in, already heading towards the kitchen. — Which is precisely why we need a change of subject. Something entertaining. Something we can talk about without collectively sinking into despair.

Remus and Tonks followed him without protest.

— Don’t tell me you’re about to recount the story of the time you nearly drowned in the bath, — Remus said, lowering himself into a chair and shooting his friend a wry look.

Tonks blinked, incredulous, still standing in the doorway.

— Sirius nearly drowned in a bath?

— Don’t listen to this traitor! — Sirius exclaimed with mock outrage. — That is a gross exaggeration… I was merely underwater a moment longer than strictly necessary… or two.

A half-smile escaped Tonks before she could stop it.

— How long is “a moment or two”?

— Not longer than what one might consider socially acceptable.

— Considerably longer than socially acceptable — Remus amended with a faint smile.

Tonks shook her head, as though she could picture it perfectly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Sirius was watching her closely. He smiled a little, softer this time. He wanted to make her laugh.

He still felt faintly guilty about that ill-timed conversation the other day.

— But since we’re speaking of interesting stories, let’s choose a better one. Like… — he shot Remus a mischievous look — what about the story of James and Lily?

Remus, who was pouring three cups of tea, glanced up at him.

— Are you going to tell your version, or the real one?

— Oh, come on — Sirius said with a soft chuckle. — Mine has far more charm.

He turned to Tonks and indicated an empty chair with an easy tilt of his glass.

She hesitated for a second, then let herself drop into the seat beside him with a quiet sigh.

— Your version makes it sound as though James had her at his feet from the very first day, — Remus pointed out. — That wasn’t the case, and you know it.

— Well, it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?

— I’m not entirely sure Lily would have agreed with that, — Remus added, almost fondly.

— At first, certainly not — Sirius conceded. — But only because James was an impatient idiot who kept doing increasingly ridiculous things to get her attention.

— Only at first?

— All right, perhaps for a little while longer — Sirius admitted.

— Years — Remus corrected mildly.

Sirius huffed.

— Details. The important thing is that James was stubborn. Very stubborn. And Lily, deep down, found it charming. She simply refused to admit it. — He rolled his eyes theatrically and turned back to Tonks.

She wasn’t exactly in the mood, but Sirius’s lightness was contagious. And she couldn’t deny she was curious. Resting her chin on her hand, surrendering her feigned indifference, she asked:

— So how did it begin?

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, sharing an expression thick with nostalgia.

— I know it was in seventh year, — Sirius said at last. — Though there were signs before that. Little things.

— Like what?

Sirius shrugged.

— Lily stopped arguing with him every five minutes. She started laughing at his jokes. She stopped huffing every time he said or did something idiotic.

Remus smiled faintly.

— They began finding reasons to be alone together…

— More like clumsy, thoroughly unconvincing excuses, — Sirius added with a laugh.

Tonks smiled despite of herself.

— But if you want an epic scene… picture this.

Sirius straightened in his chair with practised flair, lifting his cup as though about to propose a toast.

— Seventh year. First match of the season. The stands packed to bursting. James, naturally, team captain and a genius on a broom. He catches the Snitch after a breathtaking chase with the Slytherin Seeker practically on his heels! The crowd erupts..! Gryffindor wins..!

He paused dramatically, rising even higher in his seat, hands lifted like a bard recounting a grand wizarding tragedy.

— And instead of landing, what does the audacious idiot do? He takes a triumphant lap around the pitch, produces a banner with some absurd charm on it, as though he’d planned the whole thing in advance, and unfurls it above the stands, enormous, gleaming: LILY EVANS, I LOVE YOU.

He emphasised each word with his finger, as if sketching the letters into the air.

— And then…! — Sirius flung both arms toward the ceiling — the entire stadium starts chanting his name like he’s a bloody Wigtown Wanderers legend.

He leaned back with satisfaction, as though he had just delivered the climax of a Greek epic.

— It was glorious — he added, taking a sip of tea.

Tonks raised her brows, amused but sceptical.

— Did that actually happen? — she asked quietly.

Remus shook his head, though he couldn’t quite suppress a smile.

— Not exactly — he replied calmly. — They won the match, yes. But there was no banner.

— It wasn’t necessary — Sirius began, but Remus ignored him, still smiling faintly.

— What James did was fly straight towards Lily, stop level with her… and kiss her. Without a word. In front of everyone.

— Which is precisely what I was saying! — Sirius protested. — It was an epic gesture all the same, admit it. The whole stand started chanting his name as though we’d just won the Cup final.

Remus rolled his eyes.

— That part is true — he conceded. — And so is Madame Hooch scolding him for his audacity and chasing him round the pitch with a broom and a bat.

Tonks laughed softly.

— And what did Lily do?

The two friends exchanged a knowing smile.

— She called him an idiot — Remus said.

— But she didn’t pull away — Sirius insisted.

Remus nodded, half amused, half resigned, as though he couldn’t quite argue with that.

— There was one grand moment… and many others — he reflected, glancing at Tonks. — But I think, more than anything, it was the small gestures.

— Exactly — Sirius added, light but unerringly accurate. — Stolen glances, badly concealed laughter, meeting up at ridiculous hours…

— That’s how the best stories begin — Remus concluded, a faint glimmer in his eyes.

Tonks felt the words brush against her chest. Something inside her knew they weren’t speaking only of James and Lily.

Without meaning to, her gaze drifted for a moment, and that same tight smile — the one from before — curved on her lips.

Remus watched her from the corner of his eye.

She was definitely off. Too quiet. Wearing that distant look, as though she wasn’t entirely there with them.

Then Sirius, as though he had been waiting for precisely that moment, turned to his friend with a spark in his eyes.

— Doesn’t it remind you of someone, Moony? — he asked with a sly smile. — All those obvious signs, all those lingering looks… Nothing to confess about that particular era?

Tonks feigned indifference, though her eyes flickered towards Remus.

He raised his brows. He knew exactly what Sirius was implying. Calmly, he took a sip of tea and, without losing his composure, held his friend’s gaze.

— Yes, of course — he said mildly. — Rosmerta and you.

Sirius blinked.

— I beg your pardon?

— Well — Remus continued, a teasing glint in his eyes, — if we’re speaking of someone who spent years attempting to win over a woman of natural charm and formidable character…

Sirius clicked his tongue.

— Touché, Moony.

But rather than retreat, he leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

— I admit it. Rosmerta was always a challenge.

— She was never actually interested in you, — Remus said with feigned disdain.

— That is a blatant lie and you know it.

Tonks laughed, and suddenly the atmosphere felt lighter again.

Sirius had taken the bait, and the conversation shifted effortlessly.

Yet while Sirius and Remus continued trading remarks about the former’s romantic exploits, Tonks couldn’t help noticing the deftness with which Remus had sidestepped the original question.

And that left a knot in her stomach. Tight, almost painful.

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The Ministry of Magic’s interrogation room was lit by an overhead magical light that cast long, angular shadows across the walls.

Kingsley stood beside the table, reviewing documents with his customary composure, while Moody muttered under his breath about inconsistencies in the detainees’ testimonies. Tonks tapped her fingers absently, paying little attention to the conversation between her colleagues.

Suddenly, the door opened with a sharp click and Emmeline Vance entered.

Her stride was assured, her expression serene, though Tonks caught a flicker of fatigue in her eyes.

Behind her, two foreign wizards stepped in with firm, deliberate movements.

They were tall, clad in dark blue robes adorned with subtle silver embroidery at the cuffs. Their faces were impassive, their eyes scrutinising, their presence unmistakably foreign.

— Shacklebolt. Moody. Tonks — Emmeline greeted them, shaking each of their hands before turning slightly towards her companions. — These are representatives from the Russian Department of International Magical Cooperation. They’ve come to question Mirov and initiate the formal proceedings for his repatriation.

One of the Russian wizards — square-jawed, dark-haired, impeccably groomed — inclined his head almost imperceptibly.

The other, younger but equally severe in bearing, let his gaze rest briefly on Tonks. His expression did not change, yet his eyes lingered on her hair, which that morning had adopted a vivid cherry-red shade.

Tonks grimaced faintly, acutely aware of the silent appraisal.

— The British Ministry of Magic has agreed to cooperate in this matter — Kingsley explained, gesturing to the papers on the table. — However, certain procedures must be observed before extradition can take place.

Tonks let the words wash over her without truly absorbing them. Legal terminology, cooperation protocols, clauses concerning prisoners of war… none of it held her attention.

Her focus remained on Emmeline, on the confidence in her voice, the ease with which she addressed the Russians, the understated elegance with which she navigated terrain as dry and bureaucratic as this.

And on the effortless way she smiled when speaking to Remus.

The discussion concluded with an agreement to proceed with the interrogation. Emmeline, Kingsley, and the two Russian officials made their way into the adjoining room, where Mirov sat chained to the table.

Moody and Tonks remained outside, watching through the enchanted glass that allowed them to see without being seen.

— Don’t think we’re the only ones dealing with Dark wizards — Moody growled after a few moments of silence. — There’s troubling activity in Siberia and the Caucasus. A few years back, a radical faction tried to seize control of an entire region. The Russians contained it, but the threat hasn’t disappeared. And if Voldemort keeps gaining strength here, you can bet plenty of them will be willing to follow him.

Tonks frowned.

The war against Voldemort and his followers was frightening enough in Britain. Considering how easily it might escalate on an international scale was something she preferred not to dwell on.

And yet the reality was clear: the danger extended far beyond what they could see.

The interrogation dragged on for nearly an hour.

When the Russian wizards finally emerged from the room, they gave the Aurors one last curt nod before stepping into the Floo Network and vanishing in a swirl of green flames.

Emmeline watched them disappear into the emerald glow, and as soon as the fireplace dimmed, she let out a soft sigh, as though she could finally relax.

Tonks had been watching her.

Emmeline noticed and offered her a cordial smile.

— It’s been a long day — she remarked lightly, brushing a dark strand of hair away from her face. — I could do with a cup of tea.

Tonks blinked. It took her half a second to realise Emmeline was speaking to her.

— Yes… I suppose so — she replied, forcing herself to focus.

They walked down the Ministry corridor, their pace slowing as their conversation unfolded.

— I hope it wasn’t too frustrating for you — Emmeline said. — The Russians can be… rather formal when it comes to bureaucratic matters.

Tonks let out a brief laugh.

— “Rather”? I thought one of them might curse me just for looking at his moustache — she added dryly.

Emmeline laughed.

— In their defence, what surprised them most was your hair.

Tonks arched a brow.

— Ah, of course… I should have opted for a conventional shade of brown.

— Oh, no — Emmeline replied gently. — I had the impression one of them found it quite interesting.

Tonks glanced sideways at her, trying to determine whether she was serious or teasing, but Emmeline’s expression remained composed.

They spoke for several minutes about trivialities: Ministry procedures, the tedium of paperwork, the exhaustion that came from dealing with stubborn officials.

Tonks surprised herself by enjoying the exchange.

At least until, without warning, a name slipped into Emmeline’s words.

— Oh, Remus — she said with a smile. — We were in the same year at Hogwarts. We had some very good times back then. And now, seeing him again in the Order has been a lovely surprise.

A knot tightened in Tonks’s throat. She had to make a conscious effort to keep her expression from betraying the anxiety coiling inside her.

— Oh? — she managed, her tone casual enough to mask it.

Emmeline nodded, a faintly nostalgic look in her eyes.

— He was always brilliant, though discreet. I remember he stood out in Defence Against the Dark Arts more than anyone… It doesn’t surprise me at all that, years later, Dumbledore asked him to teach. — She narrowed her eyes slightly, almost playfully. — He has a natural gift for it, you know. I’m certain he was the best professor of his year at Hogwarts.

Tonks swallowed.

— Yes, well… — she murmured. — He’s a great asset to the Order now.

— Undoubtedly, — Emmeline agreed. — But not only because of his abilities. He’s kind, attentive, and remarkably good at connecting with people.

She let out a soft laugh, as though recalling something private.

Tonks felt her stomach tighten, slowly, steadily.

— Yes… I suppose he is — the Auror said, striving to keep her tone neutral.

Emmeline didn’t appear to notice her discomfort — or if she did, she chose not to comment on it.

— He’s always had that way about him — making you feel heard, understood… It’s easy to trust him, — she added, her smile soft, almost wistful.

Tonks pressed her lips together.

There it was again — that tone in her voice, that glimmer in her eyes whenever she spoke of him. Admiration, certainly. But… only that?

— I suppose so, — she repeated without thinking. The moment the words left her mouth, she realised she had already said them.

Emmeline held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary before adding quietly:

— He’s a very good man.

For a moment, she seemed to consider saying something more. Her eyes rested on Tonks, as though weighing the words poised on her tongue.

In the end, she simply smiled.

— Well, we’ve had quite enough of a break. I’m afraid I must return to my department.

— Of course — Tonks replied, her mind still elsewhere.

Emmeline inclined her head politely and walked away down the corridor, her heels striking the marble floor with the firm, refined cadence that seemed to define her entire presence.

Tonks watched her go for a moment longer, a strange aftertaste lingering in her mouth.

She couldn’t help it: something in the way Emmeline spoke about Remus unsettled her. Were they truly just old friends?

Or was something else quietly taking shape?

She sighed softly and ran a hand through her hair, which had already begun to darken without her noticing.

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The floor of her flat looked like a battlefield.

Crumpled robes, torn stockings, Muggle band T-shirts, leather trousers, military boots, a green velvet jacket she had thought lost since last year, or the year before…

Everything was out of place.
Everything was an attempt.
And none of it worked.

Tonks let herself fall back onto the bed, releasing a frustrated sigh as her wand rolled across the sheets.

She was wearing mismatched socks — one striped, the other black with a half-peeled bat — and a white shirt hastily buttoned, which didn’t seem to sit right anywhere. Not at the collar. Not at the sleeves. Not on her.

She pushed herself upright again, stood with reluctant heaviness, and faced the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. The light was dim and amber-toned, softening her features, making them look more tired. And more frustrated.

The hair she had tried, unsuccessfully, to tame had already fallen into rebellious strands again. The neckline didn’t look elegant, it looked forced. The attempt at makeup was nearly smudged away, and instead of sophistication, she saw awkwardness.

What are you doing, Nymphadora? she thought. You’re not her.

Emmeline Vance.

Elegant. Serene. Imposing.

With that assured voice, those perfect lashes, that way of inhabiting the world as though it had been arranged precisely to make her stand out…

Tonks remained there, staring at her reflection, lips tight, eyes faintly glassy.

She felt the temptation to strip off all the clothes that felt borrowed, and crawl beneath the blankets.

But she didn’t.

What if…

She lowered her gaze, hands on her hips.

— What if I looked like her on the outside… just a little? — she murmured, barely audible.

The temptation — as powerful as any spell — pulsed beneath her skin.

She could change. She could transform. With the smallest effort of concentration, she could lengthen her lashes like Emmeline’s, refine her nose, soften her chin, lift her cheekbones, alter her shape. She could give her skin that flawless, velvety glow, make her voice deeper, steadier.

She could make a more perfect version of herself.

She could do it.

She could change.

She had done it before. For missions. For infiltrations. Even for fun.

Just a little. Just to see whether then he…

But she didn’t.

Because deep down, she knew it wouldn’t matter.

Because changing her face wouldn’t change what he felt.

And because, at her core, what she truly wanted… was for someone to see her as she was. Without alterations. Without embellishment. Without lies.

How ironic.

She could become anyone. Adopt any hairstyle, any shape, any colour, any structure she pleased. She could make herself hideous. She could make herself breathtaking.

But she also knew that metamorphmagus magic was only a façade. A surface.

And Remus was not someone easily swayed by appearances , at least, he didn’t seem to be.

And even if he were… there was only one Emmeline.

One real one.

— Of course he’s drawn to her, — she said quietly at last. Not in anger. Not in envy. Just with the weary acceptance of something that felt inevitable.

With a slow gesture, as though the air itself had grown heavier, she unbuttoned the shirt and let it fall to the floor.

Only then — barefoot, bare, traces of makeup still smudged across her face — did she look more like herself again.

No transformations. No disguises. Just a girl standing before a mirror, her gaze lost somewhere beyond it.

She ran a hand through her dark, dishevelled hair.

And then she did.

She wrapped her arms around herself and, for a moment, allowed herself to fall apart a little.

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Tonks climbed the steps to Headquarters with her hands in her pockets and a faint frown between her brows.

The day had been long — like most days lately — which did nothing to lift her taciturn mood.

But when the Fidelius Charm granted her entry and she crossed the threshold, her heart sank.

Emmeline Vance was there, bidding someone farewell with a polite smile as she walked towards the door.

— Tonks — the woman greeted her gently as she passed.

— Emmeline — Tonks replied in the same courteous tone, while an absurd knot tightened in her stomach.

They crossed in the corridor, and when the door closed behind Emmeline, Tonks let out a breath.

She rolled her eyes at herself. She knew perfectly well who Emmeline had been speaking to. And the worst part was that she had absolutely no right to feel annoyed. She was being ridiculous. And that, in turn, made her irritated and even more out of sorts.

She shook her head and made her way into the kitchen.

As expected, she found Remus Lupin seated at the table, a steaming cup in his hands and a calm smile on his face.

— Tonks, — he greeted her warmly. — It’s good to see you.

She tried to return the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

— Hi.

Remus tilted his head slightly, studying her with quiet attention, reading between the lines.

— Is everything all right?

Tonks lowered her gaze to the teapot steaming on the table. She shrugged with feigned indifference.

— Nothing important.

He didn’t press. But she felt his gaze lingering on her, patient, observant, as though he had noticed something days ago.

In fact, he probably had.

In that moment, Tonks felt not only unsettled and foolish, but guilty as well. Remus hadn’t done anything wrong; he didn’t deserve to bear the weight of her mood.

So, in an effort to shake off the heaviness in her chest, she sat down and rested her elbows on the table, forcing herself to change the subject.

— How was the mission with the werewolves?

Remus seemed to accept the diversion.

— Quiet, for now. Not much movement. But they’re… receptive, I’d say. They’re not blind to what the Death Eaters are doing.

He began offering more details in his usual measured, steady tone, but Tonks barely listened.

She nodded occasionally, staring into her cup, feeling her thoughts drift further and further from the conversation.

Until, suddenly, Remus seemed to remember something.

— Oh. Wait a moment.

He leaned towards a canvas bag resting beside his chair and began rummaging through it.

Tonks looked up, arching a brow.

— What are you doing?

— I found something today, — he replied without looking up.

Then, with a faintly satisfied expression, he withdrew a worn book from the bag and placed it on the table between them.

Tonks blinked.

— A book?

Remus smiled with quiet nostalgia, his fingers brushing the faded cover.

— I read it when I was a teenager. And I once gave it to someone very special.

The knot in Tonks’s stomach tightened further.

Ah. Of course.

Who else could he have given it to but Emmeline Vance?

Her mind filled with images: Emmeline, poised and elegant, receiving the book from a younger Remus, perhaps smiling at him with that same warmth he was offering now.

Remus seemed unaware of her expression — or perhaps he simply chose not to acknowledge it.

— I’ve been looking for it for years, — he continued. — And today, after the mission, I had a feeling. I stopped by a little second-hand market… and there it was.

He extended it towards her with a gentle gesture.

The Sonnets of Shakespeare. An old edition.

Tonks took it cautiously and flipped through the pages without much attention. It wasn’t that she disliked books — but her mind was elsewhere.

When she handed it back, assuming he meant to keep it, he shook his head slightly.

— It’s for you.

Tonks stared at him, confused. Then at the book again, as if unsure she had heard correctly.

— For me?

Remus held her gaze, warm and steady.

— I don’t know what’s been going on with you lately, but you seem very serious. Not quite yourself, — he said softly. — I hope it’s nothing. But… I thought this might make you smile. At least a little.

Tonks pressed her lips together.

And then — finally — she did.

She smiled.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Hello everyone!

You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not particularly inspired to write an author’s note today… I’m very immersed in writing the fic at the moment. We’ll talk properly in the next one.

See you later, alligator! 🐊

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