Chapter 13

The Mignight Ride

The kitchen was filled with the smell of the stew Molly was stirring with care, while the rain tapped softly against the windowpanes.
Sitting side by side at the worn wooden table, Hermione and Ginny were peeling carrots with deep concentration. At first glance, they seemed completely devoted to the task… but their closeness and the quick, sidelong glances gave away a secret conversation.

Without putting down her knife, Ginny leaned slightly toward Hermione, lowering her voice just enough not to catch her mother’s attention.
—Has he written to you?

Hermione blinked, as if pulled back from her thoughts, and nodded slowly without looking up.
—A couple of times since summer started.

Ginny picked up another carrot from the pile and, under that pretext, leaned in a little closer.
—And what did he say?

Hermione lowered her voice even more.
—Nothing really. All very formal. Very Viktor.

But she couldn’t stop the blush from rising to her cheeks as she said his name. Ginny tilted her head, amused.
—Formal like ‘I miss you,’ or formal like ‘my family sends their regards’?

—Both, — Hermione admitted with a small smile. — He said he’s been training a lot, wished me a nice summer, said he’d like me to visit, and yes… that he misses me.

Ginny stifled a mischievous laugh.
—How romantic. Sounds like one of those tragic Muggle stories about lovers separated by space and time, doesn’t it?

Hermione let out a quick laugh, but soon went back to focusing on the carrot, peeling it with exaggerated precision.
—Laugh all you want, but it was a polite letter. Formal. And sweet.

—Are you going to write back?

Hermione hesitated, still watching her hands.

But just then, the kitchen door burst open, and Tonks came in, hair as wild as ever, a few drops of rain sliding down her cloak.

—Hey, girls! — she greeted cheerfully — What a day! If I trip over that cursed umbrella stand one more time, I swear I’m blowing it up.

She dropped into the chair beside them with the grace of a sack of potatoes tumbling down the stairs.
—How are those carrots coming along, Ginny?

—Barely surviving — Ginny replied, rolling her eyes with a smile.

Tonks chuckled and leaned toward Hermione, watching her hands work with almost surgical precision.
—You know, Hermione? You’re so efficient Molly should hire you for life.

Hermione looked up with a modest smile, though her expression remained serene.
—I’m just trying to be useful.

—With that attitude, you should come work at the Ministry — Tonks said, reclining in her chair and crossing her arms behind her head. — Although on second thought… maybe not. You deserve something a bit more exciting.

Ginny, setting her carrots aside, seized the chance to jump in.
—Believe it or not, Hermione’s the exciting one between us. I’m just the little sister of the troublemakers.

Tonks raised an eyebrow.
—Hermione? What did I miss?

Ginny grinned, savoring the moment, and pointed at her friend.
—Oh, don’t be fooled by that calm exterior — she said with mock drama. — Hermione was just telling me about her international boyfriend.

Hermione, who had been perfectly composed until then, dropped the carrot she was holding and rushed to correct her.
—He’s not my boyfriend! We’re just… just friends.

—Friends —Ginny repeated, drawing out the word with theatrical sarcasm as she looked at Tonks. —Right. Friends who write each other very long letters all the time and are planning a holiday in Bulgaria together.

Tonks narrowed her eyes with interest.
—So you’ve got yourself a Bulgarian boyfriend? —she asked, resting her chin in her hands like she was about to hear the day’s juiciest gossip.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
—It’s not how she’s making it sound —she protested, her cheeks now as red as the peeled carrots. —Viktor Krum and I are just…

—Friends? —Ginny cut in, thoroughly enjoying herself. —The kind of friends that nearly made Ron throw a cauldron at his head?

Tonks burst out laughing, clearly entertained.
—Viktor Krum! The Quidditch player? Hermione, girl, you’ve got high standards! And you two write regularly?

Hermione leaned forward slightly, suddenly shy.
—Well… we keep in touch. It’s nice talking to someone who isn’t constantly caught up in… you know, all this. —She gestured vaguely around the house, clearly meaning the Order and all its worries.

Tonks nodded slowly. A brief silence fell, and Hermione’s expression darkened.
Ginny, quick as ever, didn’t let the mood drop. She leaned toward the Auror—her new target.
—And what about you, Tonks? Do you have someone special?

Tonks struck an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose.
—Someone special? Hmm… —she smiled with mock mystery. —Not really. My love life’s a disaster. Between work as an Auror and tripping over everything in my path, I’m amazed anyone could survive a date with me.

—Oh, come on, Tonks —Ginny insisted. —What kind of guy do you like?

Tonks leaned back in her chair, spinning a spoon between her fingers.
—What kind of guy… let’s see… —she pursed her lips, pretending to think. —I guess I like serious types.

Ginny set the carrots aside completely and shifted in her seat, unwilling to miss a word. Hermione glanced up briefly, pretending not to be interested.

—Strong-willed. Decisive. The kind who stays calm even when everything’s blowing up around him —Tonks went on.

Ginny and Hermione rested their elbows on the table and their chins on their hands, dreamy smiles spreading across their faces. As if they were picturing the perfect boyfriend, straight from the fairy tales of their childhoods: tall, broad-shouldered, shining hair, deep voice.
For Hermione, he rode a white horse, armor gleaming, banner high.
For Ginny, he soared on a racing broom—or a dragon—robes billowing behind him.
Two versions of the same story, but the same hero all the same: a handsome face crowned by a perfect smile.

Tonks continued, her version taking a different turn.
—With a dark past, plenty of scars… and no patience for nonsense.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. That was starting to sound odd.
—Are you describing a reformed Death Eater?

Tonks burst out laughing.
—Hardly! More like someone seasoned. The kind who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be heard —she leaned toward them, eyes wide. —And with lots of personality… and style! Short hair. Well… sparse. Messy. Like he hasn’t looked in a mirror for days.

The girls exchanged a puzzled glance. It sounded as though the fairytale prince had tripped over a rock halfway through his story and smashed his perfect face.
—Hermione, I think we’re dismantling the poor bloke —murmured Ginny, torn between laughter and horror.
—And rebuilding him from nightmare parts —added Hermione wryly.

—Oh no, girls, wait— it gets better —Tonks said, barely holding back her laughter. —Essential feature: he should limp a bit. Nothing serious, just enough to give him presence. And if he’s got an interesting prosthetic—say, a wooden leg—that’s a bonus.

Hermione covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
—A wooden leg?

—Yes! And an eye that spins. Literally. So he doesn’t miss a thing. Oh, and none of those perfect noses, either— it should be half missing, or crooked, or… whatever’s left. What matters is that you can tell he’s fought, won, and survived.

Ginny stared at Hermione in disbelief, then back at Tonks, who was doing her best to look serious.
—Wait, wait! —Ginny finally burst out. —You’re describing Moody!

—No comment —said Tonks, a proud half-smile curling her lips.

Ginny had to grab the table to keep from falling off her chair, and Hermione, in hysterics, could barely speak.
—This is ridiculous! —she managed between gasps of laughter. —I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation!

—Are you saying Alastor Mad-Eye Moody is your dream man? —Ginny asked, tears of laughter in her eyes.

Tonks put on an expression of mock surprise, eyes wide as if she had just confessed her life’s purpose.
—Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

—Oh, come on! What’s next, that you like him to growl when he walks into a room?

—He doesn’t growl —said Tonks, raising the spoon solemnly. —He merely… articulates with emphasis.

The two girls exploded with laughter. Tonks rolled her eyes in mock indignation, then joined them, laughing freely.
—I’m just saying Moody’s got his charm. In his own… unique way.

Ginny wiped away a tear of laughter, and Hermione shook her head, smiling, the sadness that had clouded her earlier now completely gone.

Molly—who had been listening for quite some time, smiling to herself—finally turned from the cauldron, hands on her hips.
—What’s going on here? —she asked, frowning with mock seriousness. —I hope you’re not wasting time on nonsense.

Still red from laughter, Ginny barely managed to point at Tonks.
—Tonks says Moody is her dream man!

Molly raised her eyebrows and, to everyone’s surprise, let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she turned back to the stew.
—Well, Nymphadora, I suppose love really is blind.

Hermione and Ginny howled with laughter. Tonks twirled the spoon in the air triumphantly, like she’d just won an impossible argument, and dropped it onto the table with a ceremonious clack.
—Anyway, girls —she said, leaning back in her chair with satisfaction— if you ever see me walk in arm in arm with Moody, don’t be shocked.

Ginny started laughing again, while Hermione, amused, went back to the carrots.
—We promise not to judge —said Ginny between giggles. —Too much.

Hermione smiled, as if she could picture the scene perfectly.

Then, a voice came from the doorway:
—Funny. I’ve always thought the perfect woman should have claws, fangs… and a certain devotion to the moon.

All three turned sharply.

Lupin was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression calm, almost impassive… but his eyes shone with a playful spark he couldn’t quite hide.
—I suppose I’m not the only one who prefers nightmares to dreams.

Tonks raised an eyebrow.
—Oh, so you’re going to tell me you’re not into tall blondes with endless legs and perfect hair? —she shot back teasingly.

Lupin only shrugged, the faintest smile touching his lips.
—I guess there’s a taste for everything.

The girls laughed again. Molly lifted an eyebrow at him, as if nothing surprised her anymore, and went back to stirring the stew, murmuring:
—Not everything has to be perfect to be real.

Unable to resist, Tonks closed her eyes tightly and wrinkled her nose.
In an instant, her fingers turned into sharp claws, her chin lengthened, fangs glinted, and a long, furry tail emerged behind her, swaying proudly in the air.
—Like this? —she said in a low, playful growl.

And she howled—long and theatrical—as if answering an imaginary moon.

Ginny broke into applause. Hermione bit back a smile.
Lupin didn’t move. He lifted his chin slightly, gave her a slow once-over… and, keeping a perfectly straight face, pointed a finger at her.
—Yes —he said, dead serious. —Something like that.

The laughter still lingered in the air when, suddenly, a sharp tapping on the window interrupted them.
The three girls looked up just in time to see a white figure, soaked from the rain, land gracefully on the windowsill.

—Hedwig! —cried Hermione, jumping to her feet.

She rushed to the window, flung it open, and let the owl in. Hedwig shook out her feathers with dignity before extending one leg. Three neatly rolled parchments hung from it.

Hermione untied them and went to fill a bowl with water. Grateful, Hedwig bent to drink while raindrops still fell from her outstretched wings.

Ginny, Lupin, and Tonks gathered closer, curious. Molly set her spoon down on the rim of the cauldron and turned toward them.
—Are they from Harry? —asked Ginny.

Hermione nodded, separating the scrolls. One was addressed to Sirius. Another, to Ron. And the third—to her. She unrolled it and began to read.
At first, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. Then her expression shifted: surprise gave way to concern. She read the same lines again and again, as if needing to make sure she’d understood correctly.

The laughter faded from her lips.

Tonks and Ginny exchanged a glance. Molly stepped closer in silence. Lupin pressed his lips together, already sensing what was coming.

Hermione lowered the parchment slowly, gripping it tightly between her fingers.
—It’s Harry —she said quietly. —He’s been attacked… by Dementors. In Little Whinging.

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The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was more crowded than usual for an Order meeting. Everyone was there: Snape, McGonagall, Kingsley, Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle, Moody, Sirius, Lupin… and, of course, Dumbledore.

But something in the atmosphere was different. Tonks felt it the moment she stepped in — the air was heavy, tense, as if a reprimand were hanging in it, waiting to fall.

The Headmaster, normally so composed, was visibly angry. Beside him, Mundungus Fletcher slumped in his chair, looking so miserable he seemed more like a scolded schoolboy than a seasoned thief.

Dumbledore, his face grave, began to speak.
—Unfortunately, due to a serious mistake on Mundungus’s part, Harry Potter was forced to defend himself against Dementors.

A stunned silence followed.

—Not only did he cast a Patronus in the middle of the street —Dumbledore went on— which is an act of remarkable power for a minor, but it was also witnessed by a Muggle, causing all sorts of trouble with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

His gaze swept quickly over the assembled faces, making sure everyone understood the weight of the situation.
—Harry has been summoned to a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry. We can’t wait any longer. We must go to him, bring him safely here, and make sure he’s protected.

A low murmur spread through the room as the members of the Order absorbed the news.

Tonks noticed the confusion on several faces, but soon the tension broke as they began discussing how to carry out the rescue.

—Floo Network? —suggested Dedalus Diggle, but Dumbledore shook his head at once.
—No, we can’t risk it. We’ve been tracked that way before. We need something safer. And quieter.

—Portkey? —Bill Weasley offered from beside his father.

—No good —grunted Moody, his magical eye spinning restlessly as it scanned every corner. —Portkeys are too tightly regulated. They’d trace us in seconds.

That was when Remus, from his corner, spoke up:
—We could fly to his house. Harry’s good on a broom, and he’s quick in the air. We could reach him without drawing attention and bring him back before anyone noticed.

Tonks looked up, surprised by the simplicity of the plan.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. He didn’t say anything, but there was a quiet, knowing smile on his lips.

She smiled back and folded her arms, thoughtful. Well… so Harry Potter was a good flier. Not surprising.

She’d heard enough stories about him from Hermione and Ginny that she almost felt she knew him already. She remembered the light in Ginny’s eyes every time she spoke about him, and couldn’t help but smile.

The idea of flying to the Dursleys’ sounded perfect: fast, efficient, and with just enough risk. Exactly the kind of mission she loved most.

The discussion continued, full of strategies and practical details.

At last, Dumbledore asked for volunteers.

Tonks raised her hand without hesitation, as if something inside her had leapt forward before she could think.

A moment later, Remus Lupin’s hand went up too.

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Tonks arrived at Grimmauld Place right on time, humming cheerfully, walking with a spring in her step and a bright smile, as if the mission were more of an outing than an operation.
Her trusty goggles hung from her neck, and her Comet Two Thousand rested proudly on her shoulder. The model was a bit outdated, but it was fast, nimble, and slightly temperamental—much like its owner.

Her hair, this time, was a deep electric violet, cut short and spiked as if she’d fought a lightning bolt… and won.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen, she spotted Remus Lupin leaning casually by the fireplace.
He already had a pair of goggles ready and a broom by his side.

Remus raised an eyebrow at her.
—What’s with the hair?

Tonks pushed her goggles up onto her head like a headband, grinning mischievously.
—It’s more aerodynamic.

Remus let out a quiet laugh, tilting his head. Then Tonks noticed his broom: it looked as if it belonged to another century. The handle, made of dark, well-worn wood, was lined with scratches and faint dents, as though it had survived one winter too many.
The tail twigs were uneven and a little crooked, rebelling against alignment, yet still bound together by a hand-tied cord blackened with age.
It wasn’t a sleek or fast broom, but it was solid—the kind that could take you anywhere, if you knew how to handle it.

—Wow —she said dramatically, admiring it—. I’m afraid your antique might not survive the trip, Lupin.

He glanced down at his broom, pretending to be offended.
—This model was one of the best —he said with restrained dignity—. In its day.

—In its day? —she repeated. —When, exactly? Before the invention of brakes?

He simply shook his head, amused. Tonks winked at him.

From across the kitchen, Sirius was watching them.
Leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed, he looked relaxed… but in his eyes lingered nostalgia—and the quiet sting of envy. What he wouldn’t give to fly again, through open skies and fields, the night air on his face after too long trapped indoors…

—Just in case anyone’s wondering —he said with his usual careless drawl— I would’ve been the fastest.

Tonks turned toward him with a wide grin.
—I don’t doubt it. But I can’t promise my Comet wouldn’t have left you behind.

—Of course —he scoffed with a crooked smile. —A temperamental broom and a stubborn Auror. Perfect match.

Before she could retort, the door burst open with a sharp thud.
Moody stormed in like a thundercloud, followed by Kingsley, Hestia, and Dedalus. All of them carried brooms and the same expression—focused, but unmistakably exhilarated.

—Five minutes to review the route —Moody barked, his magical eye sweeping the room. —And I don’t want anyone chatting mid-flight. This is a mission, not a joyride.

Tonks turned to Remus and murmured under her breath:
—You hear that? No singing on the way.

—Shame —he replied, feigning disappointment. —I’ve been practicing all day.

Tonks stifled a laugh but straightened quickly under Moody’s piercing stare. Without another word, the group moved out into the back garden, Sirius following close behind.

Under the pale light of the moon, the advance team made their final preparations.
The garden of Grimmauld Place was wrapped in tense silence, broken only by the rustle of cloaks and the faint hum of hovering brooms over the damp ground.

Tonks, unable to stand still, adjusted the straps of her cloak for the umpteenth time while her Comet Two Thousand floated beside her, humming softly—its handle pulsing with a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat eager for the sky.

Remus stepped closer, adjusting his goggles, and glanced sideways at her.
—Ready for the midnight ride? —he asked in a low, conspiratorial tone.

—Born for it —Tonks replied, turning toward him, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

For a second, the air itself seemed to hold its breath.

At last, Moody took position at the front and raised both arms.
The figures fell into line in perfect silence, taking their assigned places.
His magical eye rotated one last time, scanning the darkness.

Everyone mounted their brooms, waiting for his signal.
Tonks, beside Lupin, swung a leg over her Comet. The wind brushed against them—cold, clean, inviting them upward. Then Lupin dipped his head in mock solemnity and said quietly:
—Good flight, Nymphadora.

Tonks blinked. A twitch tugged at the corner of her mouth.
—Don’t call me Nymphadora! —she shouted, but Lupin was already in the air, swift and smooth, leaving behind a trace of motion—and that infuriating invisible smile.

—Coward! —she grumbled, kicking off hard.

The Comet Two Thousand shot after him—fast, alive, laughter trembling in her throat as the night opened above them.

From the ground, Sirius watched them go, hands buried in his pockets, face turned toward the open sky.
He followed the Order of the Phoenix as they rose into the night—high, free—until their shapes faded in the distance, like shooting stars vanishing into the firmament.

—Not a single cloud —he murmured to himself, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. —A perfect night to fly.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

And that’s where we’ll stop for today 🌙

As I promised, we’ve finally caught up with canon. In fact, the scene that ends with Hedwig’s arrival and the three letters (one for Ron, one for Hermione, and one for Sirius) continues directly into Chapter 3 of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

I must confess… this chapter adds absolutely nothing to the plot 😂. Nothing. It could easily not exist at all. It’s just three little “filler” scenes that don’t move the story forward in the slightest — but I had such a blast creating them.

Tonks is just brilliant: with her nonsense, her clumsy charm, her elegance worthy of a sack of potatoes, and that almost magical ability to dodge any personal question with charisma, flair, and yes, her eternal natural grace.

I love being able to explore her in settings where her full personality shines — her humor, her warmth, her chaos. She always makes me smile, and I hope she’s managed to pass a bit of that energy on to you too.

And that ending… Tonks still yelling at Lupin as he takes off, and Sirius looking up at the sky — ah. I can almost see them, laugh with them… and with everything that’s about to come.

Anyway, if I made you smile, then the effort was worth it 💛
I even made a tiny comic with the “Mr. Dreamy Moody” part — go check it out on TikTok or Instagram!
You can find all my links here:

https://lagatakafka.com/links/
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