Chapter 27

Don’t ever lower your wand, not even for fairy tales

The air vibrated with the intensity of spells in the Ministry’s training room.

Tonks leapt to the side, narrowly dodging a silvery flash that buzzed past her shoulder.

She sprang back to her feet, panting, and launched her counterattack.

—Expulso!

The spell shot forward, but Kingsley dodged it swiftly, pivoting on himself.

Tonks frowned, trying to decipher the movement.

It was so precise.
So clean.
So… efficient.

Kingsley barely seemed to exert himself and yet his body moved with the exactness of a dancer in combat.

That way of moving…
She had only ever seen it in one other person, another auror.

—How the hell do you do that? —she asked, unable to stop herself.

Kingsley halted his advance and looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

—Do what?

Tonks gestured at his stance, the slight shift of his weight over his heels, the way his movements seemed almost instinctive.

—That. Those turns, that speed. You move just like Moody.

Kingsley allowed himself a faint smile.

—He’s the one who taught me.

Tonks snorted, exhausted.

—That explains it.

With a sigh, she let herself drop onto the first step of the staircase leading out of the room, letting her head fall back.

Kingsley watched her for a moment before sitting down beside her with that impassive elegance that always seemed to follow him.

—Don’t get discouraged. It’s hard at first.

He handed her a bottle of water, which Tonks accepted.

—I’m not discouraged —she replied, straightening up—. It’s just that I keep wondering…

She hesitated for a moment, fiddling with the bottle cap, then looked at him with curiosity.

—Kingsley, what happened to Moody? Why does he have all those scars, a missing leg, and a magical eye?

Kingsley narrowed his eyes, intrigued.

—He’s never told you?

—No. And honestly, I’d never really asked myself… until Azkaban —she murmured, lowering her voice as she remembered that conversation by the sea—. Now I can’t get it out of my head.

Kingsley took a deep breath, like someone preparing to tell a legend.
He settled himself on the step.

—I suppose you’ve heard stories…

—Of course I’ve heard stories —she said, hugging her knees and resting her chin on them—. They’re the stories whispered between cubicles when Moody walks by, when someone from another department comes to visit, or during coffee breaks with the rookies. Each one more outlandish than the last. I don’t know what to believe…

Kingsley didn’t answer right away.
He rested his forearms on his knees, interlaced his fingers with deliberate slowness, as if carefully choosing each word before letting it go.

—Well… it’s not that I know for certain —he finally said, his voice low—. But it was quite an epic.

Tonks lifted her gaze, expectant.
Kingsley looked down at the floor, thoughtful, then drew a deep breath, like someone bracing himself for something big.

—Years ago, during a classified mission, Moody faced a dark wizard whose name… no one dares to speak anymore.

Tonks straightened a little.
She was so absorbed in the story that she barely blinked.

Kingsley tilted his head, as if watching the scene unfold before his eyes.

—He had taken over a hidden fortress in Scotland, along with an army of inferi. Inside, a group of rebel witches and wizards, prisoners, were waiting to die. There were no reinforcements. No escape plan. Just Alastor Moody… and his wand.

Tonks felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

—And what did he do?

Kingsley looked at her seriously.
His eyes were like dark stones.
Fixed.
Implacable.

—What Moody does —he murmured firmly—. He advanced.

The word fell between them with all its weight.
Like a sentence.
Or a condemnation.

Kingsley closed his eyes.
Paused.

Slow.
Respectful.

—The ground was a quagmire of bones and shadows —he continued—. With every step, the inferi rose, trying to drag him into the abyss. But he didn’t stop. He cast fire with one hand and curses with the other. He brought down dozens, maybe hundreds. But there were too many.

—And did he make it through? —Tonks whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

Kingsley leaned slightly toward her, as if gravity itself were pushing him.

—They bit him. Clung to his leg, dragged him into the mud, tore him apart. His face. His chest. Hair ripped out. The eye…

A dry shiver ran down Tonks’s spine, like a cold gust at the nape of her neck.

—His eye…?

Kingsley nodded slowly, never looking away.

—An inferius tore it out with a swipe. But even then, he didn’t fall. Do you know what he did next?

She shook her head, holding her breath.

Kingsley leaned in just a fraction, the gesture contained, almost ritual.

—He bit it first.

Tonks blinked.

—What?

A pause.

—He bit its face —he repeated, his voice as calm as it was blunt—. So hard, so unexpectedly, that the inferius let go.

Then he stood and walked a few steps away, turning his back to her.

—In the end, after losing a leg, an eye, and being covered in wounds, Moody left a defeated army behind him. He reached the fortress and dragged the prisoners out to safety. He saved them all. Alone. Because he’s Moody. Though… by that point, there wasn’t much of him left.

Silence settled like a heavy cloak.

Tonks stayed still, processing.
The story was still echoing in her mind when she finally looked up and noticed the half-smile on Kingsley’s lips.

He was watching her with one eyebrow raised.

—You’re messing with me —she murmured, narrowing her eyes.

Kingsley let out a snort that, apparently, he had been holding back for a while.

—Of course I’m messing with you, rookie.

Before she could throw an insult at him, he stepped closer and held out his hand.

—On guard, Tonks. Don’t ever lower your wand, not even for fairytales.

She laughed as she took his hand.

—I swear that one day I’ll learn not to believe you.

—And I hope you don’t —he said, with a crooked smile—. It would be far less fun.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

Tonks left the training room with an incredulous smile on her lips and her wand still humming in her pocket.
Kingsley’s laughter was still buzzing in her ears as she stepped out through the main doors of the Ministry. She shook her head, amused.

—How did I ever swallow that whole inferi story?

Either way, it had been far too good not to share.

When she crossed the threshold of Grimmauld Place, Tonks did not expect to witness a different kind of battle: ladles dancing, flour hanging in the air like magical mist, and a panicked-looking Sirius Black facing a cauldron that bubbled suspiciously.

—What are you doing, Black? —she asked, leaning against the doorframe with her most mocking tone.

Sirius did not turn at once, but his voice rose above the bubbling, carrying a note of feigned dignity.

—Trying to cook something minimally decent on my own. And you? —he added, never stopping the stirring, as if imitating Molly Weasley might somehow improve whatever-that-was.

—Cooking? —Tonks let out a small laugh and took a few steps closer, dodging a puddle of milk—. Has Molly already given you permission to use utensils without supervision?

—Don’t start —he snorted, half resigned, half amused—. I’m trying, all right? The cauldron hasn’t exploded yet.

—Yet… —she commented, glancing at the thick, indefinable contents bubbling like a badly brewed potion.

Sirius pressed his lips together.

—It was onion soup. I swear.

—Want some help? —Tonks offered, barely holding back her laughter.

—Bah —he waved it off dismissively—. Better yet, go check on Remus. He’s not doing too well. He’s upstairs, in my room, with Buckbeak.

A flicker of concern crossed her face before she could hide it behind a gentle smile.

—All right —she replied, her voice softer now, and turned away.

Sirius watched her as she headed toward the hall.

A moment later, there was a crash, followed by a muffled curse and his mother’s hysterical shrieking.

—Sorry! —Tonks shouted from the corridor.

Sirius looked away from the cauldron, one eyebrow arching with dry amusement.

—The bloody umbrella stand… —Tonks muttered.

Through the half-open door came the sound of hurried footsteps, the screech of heavy curtains being drawn shut, something being hastily put back into place… and then the echo of feet running up the stairs.

—Tell him I’ll bring soup up —Sirius called out, though no one was listening anymore.

He stood there in silence for a moment.

Then he lowered his gaze back to the cauldron, which continued to bubble with a sinister air, and kept stirring.

He smiled, warm and fond.

—Moony… lucky bastard.

Tonks climbed the stairs with more haste than strictly necessary.
She stopped in front of one of the doors and, after a brief breath, knocked softly before stepping inside.

Remus was sitting in a battered armchair, a book open across his knees, with Buckbeak at his feet. The hippogriff, wings folded and eyes closed, seemed to sense his companion’s discomfort and had curled up close to him, as if trying to offer warmth.

He looked up when he saw her. His smile was faint, but warm.

Tonks did not speak at first. Instead, she bowed theatrically to Buckbeak. The hippogriff examined her for a few seconds before returning the gesture with solemn dignity.

—How are you? —she asked quietly, straightening up.

—Fine. Just a cold —Remus replied calmly, though his eyes betrayed a deeper exhaustion.

Tonks watched him in silence, sceptical.

But she did not press the matter.

Instead, her gaze drifted around the room.

She noticed first the old Gryffindor banner hanging on the wall, faded by the years and thick with dust.
Then she walked slowly toward the desk beneath the window. It was cluttered with stacks of books in a certain careless order: some open, others marked with crumpled scraps of parchment. She raised an eyebrow and brushed her fingers over one of the titles, smiling.

—I had this one too —she said softly, lifting a worn copy of Advanced Transfiguration for N.E.W.T. Levels. She pulled an amused face—. Though I don’t think I opened it nearly as many times as you probably did.

Remus let out a crooked smile without saying a word.

—And this one —Tonks went on, flipping through another volume whose pages were warped by damp— Fantastic Beasts in the Classroom. Right, everyone used this one. I remember mine ended up with bits of fwooper feather stuck to the cover.

She ran her fingers along the spines of a few more books as she moved toward the opposite wall.
There, the colours shifted.
The air felt younger, frozen in time.

Several photographs were pinned up with crooked tacks, and among them peeked posters of motorcycles and Muggle girls, peeling at the corners.
Tonks tilted her head, half amused, half curious.

—This used to be Sirius’s room, didn’t it? —she asked, not turning around yet.

—Yes —Remus replied, rolling his eyes—. It’s Buckbeak’s suite now.

—I’m sure Buckbeak appreciates Muggle bodies in bikinis just as much as the former owner did —Tonks joked, raising an eyebrow at the hippogriff.

Buckbeak cleared his throat as if feeling addressed and, with a slow gesture, brushed her leg with his beak.

Tonks laughed softly. Without another word, she dropped down onto the floor, crossing her legs beside the armchair where Remus sat. Gently, she stroked the hippogriff’s head.

Then she saw it.
Behind him, hanging on the wall, there was a framed photograph, faded, but alive.

Four young boys bursting with energy, wearing their Hogwarts uniforms and carrying that unmistakable smile that only exists at eleven years old.

James was waving at the camera, Peter looked as if he were about to trip, Sirius wore his most shameless grin, and Remus… had exactly the same expression with which he was now looking at her: warm, restrained, with a shadow of melancholy that seemed to have been born with him.

Tonks glanced at him, but said nothing.
Remus was looking at the photograph too.

—So many years have passed… —he murmured, more to himself than to her— and I still think of them as we were at eleven.

He lifted his hand very slowly, not quite touching the image. He merely traced its outline with his fingers, overwhelmed by the memory of those days.

Sirius and James had shone with their own light from the very beginning.
Not only because of their pure-blood lineage or the magical education they brought from home, but because they possessed a natural magnetism that made them stand out effortlessly. Magic flowed through them as easily as breathing; their wands seemed an extension of their hands, and their talent was undeniable.

But it was not only their magical ability that set them apart.
Before long, both were known not just for their skill, but also for their mischief.
There was always something in motion, a new plan or a brilliant prank.

It was not merely that they were good friends, but that there seemed to be a kind of synchrony between them.
James and Sirius were two forces of nature. They were bold and free. As if the world had been made to fit them, rules were nothing more than suggestions to be ignored at will, and consequences an extension of the fun.

Peter and he, on the other hand, though at first they seemed reluctant to join in, soon found themselves drawn into their orbit. And even if they pretended to protest, deep down they enjoyed it far more than they ever admitted.

At first, Remus tried to keep his distance, afraid that his secret would come between them.

But James’s and Sirius’s laughter was contagious. Their loyalty, unbreakable. And without quite realizing it, Remus found himself laughing alongside them, taking part in their madness, enjoying a sense of normality he had never believed possible for someone like him.

They were often caught red-handed —especially by the severe Professor McGonagall or the ill-tempered Argus Filch— but even then, more often than not, they ended up laughing. Between punishments and reprimands, punished or not, but always together.

Without noticing, Remus let out a sigh.

Tonks smiled, sensing the melancholy hanging in the air.

Then she dared to ask something that had been circling her thoughts for a while. Her voice was low, as if she feared breaking the moment:

—There’s something I don’t understand, and it’s… how did you go to Hogwarts being a werewolf? I mean… —she began to explain, but Remus gently shook his head.

He had understood the question perfectly.

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, drifting back into his memories.
To an afternoon in late September of his first year, when they went for a walk across the grounds and wandered a little farther than they should have. Something in the distance had caught their attention.

—Look, they’ve planted a Whomping Willow —said Peter, pointing at the tree which, upon noticing their presence, raised its branches in fury, as if trying to strike them.

James and Sirius approached at once, fascinated by the creature’s aggression, laughing as if it were just another challenge, an invitation to test their luck.

But Remus did not laugh.

He knew why it was there.

Dumbledore had told him.

That immense, violent tree was not there by chance. Its purpose was to conceal and protect the entrance to a secret passage, one that Remus would use many times during his years at Hogwarts.

It was the way to reach an old, derelict house in Hogsmeade, where his transformation could take place under conditions of maximum safety and far from prying eyes.

The plan was as follows:

Every afternoon before the full moon, Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, would come to fetch him at dusk. Together they would cross the grounds to the Whomping Willow, which would freeze the moment she pressed the correct knot on its trunk.

Then she would escort Remus through the underground passage and leave him in the abandoned house, casting an enchantment over the opening to seal it from the outside.

She would return to the castle, and would not come back until dawn, when the moon had already faded from the sky.

And so it was.

Remus woke up on the floor after regaining his human form, curled up in a corner, naked, his hands bloodied and his body trembling with cold and pain.

He barely had the strength to sit up when Madam Pomfrey arrived and wrapped him in a blanket.

Then she offered him a restorative potion and a Chocolate Frog. When he recovered a bit of strength, she helped him walk back to the castle through the narrow tunnel they had crossed hours earlier.

That first transformation at Hogwarts was as terrible as always: the same pain, the same sickness, the same guilt.

Until something unexpected happened.

That very afternoon, after classes, James, Sirius and Peter appeared in the hospital wing to visit him. They were only smiling, and James, with that familiar ease of his, sat down at the foot of his bed.

Remus sat up at once, slightly uneasy. He had not expected to see them there.

—We asked about you and McGonagall told us you were ill —James explained, smiling in a way that reflected a mix of concern and amusement— so we came to see you.

—And to bring you sweets —added Peter, climbing onto the bed as if it were a sofa and dropping several brightly coloured packets onto Remus’s lap.

—We were worried —said Sirius, completely naturally—. You could have told us you weren’t feeling well.

Without further explanations or questions, they settled around him, opened the treats and began to chat as if that day were no different from any other.

Soon, the room filled with laughter, stories and jokes.

Sirius mocked Peter for his inability to eat without smearing himself with chocolate, and Peter, red as a tomato, replied with an indignant look that only provoked more laughter.

And yes, Remus remembered himself laughing so hard that he nearly lost his balance and almost fell off the bed, which unleashed an even greater uproar.

That was the first convalescence in which he was not alone.

He thought of how, for the first time, laughter soothed him more than any potion.

His bones did not ache as much, his muscles were less tense. Even the wounds on his skin seemed to heal faster.

And, for once, there were no tears of guilt or resignation shining in his eyes. Only joy.

The silence that followed his story was calm, broken only by Buckbeak’s steady breathing at his feet.

When Remus turned his eyes toward Tonks, she was still sitting on the floor, her chin resting on one hand, looking at him.

She had listened to every word without interrupting, without trying to fill the space with platitudes or awkward gestures.

She was simply there. Present. And in her eyes there was no trace of pity or condescension. Only deep understanding.

Then she smiled, slowly, as if she perfectly understood what he was not saying.

—What a scandal it would be if your students found out that Professor Lupin has a dangerous weakness for sweets… and for Firewhisky at tender, impressionable ages —Tonks whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Remus raised an eyebrow, amused, though his expression quickly clouded.

—I doubt they’d want to imagine their professor as someone who…

—…who laughed until he nearly fell off a hospital bed? —she finished with playful ease, as if she could blow the melancholy away with a breath.

He shook his head, but his smile betrayed him.

Tonks watched him with a warm expression, as if she could truly see him whole: not only the reserved man he was now, but also the boy he had once been.

Buckbeak cleared his throat softly and rubbed his beak against Remus’s leg, demanding attention. He blinked, still half-smiling, and stroked the hippogriff affectionately before looking back at Tonks.

—And what about Sirius? Is it true he’s trying to cook?

Tonks let out a brief laugh.

—Yes. And I’d dare say he’s put his whole soul into not setting the kitchen on fire.

As if he’d been listening behind the door, Sirius appeared at that very moment, a steaming mug in his hands.
When he saw them, he paused for a second, taking in the scene: Remus sunk into the old armchair, Buckbeak at his feet, and Tonks sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, her eyes still bright with laughter.

—Well —he commented dryly—. I don’t remember having this much company in my childhood bedroom.

He stepped closer to Remus and handed him the mug.

—Soup. Onion —he announced with feigned pride, before glancing sideways at Tonks—. And yes, for your peace of mind, the kitchen is still standing.

Tonks burst out laughing from the floor.

Sirius perched on the arm of the chair and couldn’t help studying his old friend. Remus looked better, healthier, more relaxed. He flicked a quick glance at Tonks and smiled to himself. He was fairly sure the auror’s visit had something to do with it.

They began chatting about nonsense: from how untidy the Black house still was to Sirius’s culinary feats, which, according to him, deserved proper recognition.

—Honestly, the soup is better than I expected —Remus conceded, looking at his friend.

—I made soup all by myself —Sirius declared ceremoniously—. For someone as daring as me, that already counts as a heroic achievement.

—We should build you a monument —Tonks teased, pressing a hand to her heart.

—Every day I see it closer. My restaurant, “Padfoot’s Cauldron”.

Tonks laughed out loud and Remus shook his head.

Sirius flopped down onto his old bed with exaggerated flair and, after a brief pause, looked at his cousin.

—So, how was training with Kingsley?

Tonks straightened up and smiled sideways. She’d almost forgotten.

—Very revealing, actually —she said enigmatically—. Today I discovered why Alastor Moody is… the way he is.

Both men raised their eyebrows, intrigued.

—Oh, really? —Remus asked, turning his attention fully to her.

Tonks leaned forward, as if she were about to share a state secret.

—Apparently, when he was young, he had a terrifying encounter with some Inferi.

She paused dramatically, savouring the moment, and began her tale in her most solemn tone.

But to her surprise, before she even reached the middle of the story, Sirius let out an incredulous laugh, and Remus shot her a look that was half amused, half sceptical.

—You’re pulling our leg —said Lupin.

—You didn’t even let me finish! —Tonks protested, indignant.

Sirius was already laughing openly.

—Tonks, please —he said, glancing at Remus, who was now smiling outright—. You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to fool us.

She crossed her arms, pretending to be offended, though her smile was unavoidable.

—Alright, you caught me —Tonks conceded, shrugging—. But come on, Buckbeak believed me, didn’t you?

The hippogriff, as if he understood, tilted his head toward her with a deep rasping sound. Tonks leaned down to stroke his feathers, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Sirius laughed, but Remus watched her. He surprised himself by following her movements with more attention than he’d intended. In the way her fingers slid through the feathers, in the soft laugh that escaped her at being accepted by the hippogriff, there was something deeply captivating.

And suddenly, an inexplicable pang pierced his chest. Am I jealous of a hippogriff? he thought, both astonished and annoyed with himself.

—Are you alright, Remus? —Tonks asked suddenly, lifting her gaze toward him. She caught him completely off guard.

—What? Yes, of course —he replied hastily, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the soup creep up his neck—. It’s just that… it surprises me. Buckbeak doesn’t usually accept people so easily.

—I told you he’d like me —Tonks said, beaming. She winked at him before turning her attention back to the hippogriff.

Buckbeak, as if to underline his preference, let out another rasping sound and fixed Remus with a firm, almost territorial look.

Sirius burst out laughing.

—Well, Remus! I think you’ve officially been dethroned.

—Nonsense… —Remus muttered, trying to sound indifferent. But a faint, sincere smile curved his lips.

—Yes, yes, whatever you say —Sirius replied, amused, raising his hands in mock surrender—. But we clearly have a new favourite.

Tonks shook her head, entertained, and kept stroking Buckbeak.

Remus forced himself to relax.

It was absurd to feel jealous of a hippogriff, and yet, watching her like that —so happy, so radiant—, he caught himself wishing he were the reason for one of those smiles.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

The house fell back into silence.
Sirius, with a dramatic yawn, had retired for the night, swearing he needed “twelve hours of sleep to recover from so much culinary talent”.
Tonks, after stroking Buckbeak one last time, said goodbye with one of those smiles that seemed to linger in the air long after she was gone.

Remus didn’t return to his book.
Instead, he remained seated for a while, the empty mug resting between his hands, feeling the warmth slowly fade.
He glanced at Buckbeak, who slept deeply in his favourite corner.

The blasted hippogriff.

He had been the spark for that uncomfortable sensation he already knew well—the same sharp pang he had felt with Bill.

He remembered that day. How jealousy had flared at the thought that there might be something more between Tonks and Bill, followed by the unexpected lightness when he realised there wasn’t. He also recalled the laughter the following day, when Tonks and he had tried to convince Molly not to interfere in Bill’s love life. Nor in that of any of her children.

His gaze drifted to the space beside the armchair, where she had been sitting that afternoon. She had just come simply to keep him company, to listen to his memories, and to make him laugh.

Tonks was one of those people who was always there, and she had proven it more than once.

His mind wandered back to the night he had told her about his condition as a werewolf. He had expected a different reaction then. Confusion, hesitation, perhaps even rejection.

But what he received had been unexpected. Tonks had met it with humour, something that was not only inappropriate, but that eased the weight of his own words far more than any consolation or pity ever could.

“Huh…,” she had said. Just that. As if he had told her his favourite sweet was chocolate.

And then there had been that smile, open, warm, disarming.
A smile that made the solemn, heavy words of his confession dissolve into the air as though they had never been spoken.

After a long time, he had felt… light. Seen. Accepted.

The feeling carried him back to his years at Hogwarts, when his friends had become Animagi to accompany him through his darkest nights.
That camaraderie, that absolute gesture of acceptance, had been vital to him.

…but what he felt now, though it resembled it in some ways, was not the same.

This wasn’t companionship.
It wasn’t the kind of friendship he had shared with Sirius, James, or even Peter during the brightest days of his youth. There was something else, something infinitely subtler, deeper.

With every smile Tonks gave him, with every look they shared, he felt a warmth that was both different and familiar.

More than anything, Tonks reminded him of Lily.

Lily, whom he had loved so intensely he had never imagined such a feeling was possible. That love had been platonic: an affection between kindred souls, a deep devotion that had never crossed into romance.

His thoughts returned to that sharp pang.

Jealousy? It was a word he preferred not to use.

But it was the same thing he had felt with Lily, long ago. Not out of romantic love, but out of fear of losing his place.

He remembered how uncomfortable it had been to see Snape by her side or later, James. Not because he didn’t care for them—even Snape, somewhere deep down, he cared for a little—but because he feared that Lily, so bright and so loved, would drift away from him.
That she would stop seeing him.
That he would stop being someone to her.

But that never happened. Lily never pushed him aside. She always sought him out. And he always had a place by her side.

Perhaps that was what was happening now with Tonks.

Perhaps it was normal to feel this way when someone mattered to you.

Perhaps Tonks reminded him of Lily, and that was why he felt this need to stay close to her.

Because that was all jealousy really was, nothing more than an old habit of protecting those he cared about.

And Tonks… well.

It was clear that she mattered to him.

……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……………………………..……

The air in the Ministry training room was thick with the scent of freshly cast spells and the faint echo of recent duels.
Tonks was breathing fast, the adrenaline from the last exercise still racing through her veins, when Kingsley flicked his wand and, with a soft burst of magic, two chairs appeared in front of them.

He sat down with his usual effortless elegance and nodded toward the other chair.

—We’re going to start with Occlumency.

Tonks raised an eyebrow.

—But we already did that, didn’t we? —she asked—. When you taught me how to defend myself against the dementors in Azkaban.

Kingsley nodded.

—Yes. That’s correct. But that was only the most basic level of Occlumency.

Tonks frowned.

—You mean it gets even harder? Don’t answer —she added, catching his expression—. Your face says everything.

Without waiting for a response, she dropped into the chair with a small huff and looked at her mentor.

—Aside from the training we did… what do you actually know about Occlumency and Legilimency? —Kingsley asked.

Tonks thought about it for a moment. Truthfully, she didn’t know much. She shrugged.

—What they taught us in our last year at Hogwarts.

Kingsley watched her patiently, waiting.

—Though… well, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly my strong suit —she admitted, with a half-smile.

He let out a low, brief chuckle.

—I’m not surprised. You’re very expressive. It’s hard to hide your thoughts when everything you feel shows on your face.

Tonks twisted her mouth.

—And in my hair —she added. Even though she liked that part of herself, it made her far too transparent, and very bad at the art of Occlumency.

Kingsley folded his hands over his knees, patient.

—It isn’t easy. It took me years to master it, and the key is constant practice. A little every day.

Tonks sighed and straightened in her chair.

—Do you know exactly what Occlumency is?

—Well, it’s protecting your mind from external intrusion, right? —she answered without hesitation.

—Correct. But it’s more than that —Kingsley leaned slightly forward—. There are three levels of Occlumency, and you’ll need all of them. Today, we’ll focus on the second.

Tonks nodded slowly.

—The first level —he explained— is defense against passive pressure. Like what you experienced in Azkaban. Dementors aren’t looking for your thoughts, but they press. Their mere presence tries to seep in. The more dementors there are, the more pressure. The closer they are to you, the stronger it becomes.

Kingsley paused briefly before continuing.

—The defense there is to raise a wall. Solid. Unshakable. Like a fortress of silence. If you manage to isolate yourself, you can think clearly, even conjure a Patronus. You did it. And that’s no small thing.

—And it still felt like torture —she murmured, though she couldn’t quite hide a flicker of pride.

Kingsley nodded, his gaze serious.

—It is. But you endured it. The second level is a different story: defense against an active, conscious intrusion. Someone is trying to read your mind, to enter it, to find something. There, a wall is no longer enough.

—That already sounds worse —Tonks whispered.

—The third level is worse still. Defense during sleep. Your mind is open. Your conscious barriers are down. If someone gets in then, they can manipulate what you see, what you feel. And often, you won’t even know it isn’t real.

—And can that be prevented?

—With deep mastery of the second level, yes. But even then, it’s not infallible. Sometimes your own emotions open a crack. Sometimes the attacker knows exactly where to press.

Tonks fell silent for a few seconds. Kingsley smiled, lightening the mood slightly, which had grown tense.

—Don’t worry, Tonks. Today, level two.

—Alright. Level two, then.

Kingsley adjusted his posture and continued.

—Remember this. A wall is no longer enough here. It’s not just about shutting someone out when they try to read your mind —it’s about controlling it. Ordering it. If your mind is an open book, anyone skilled enough can read its pages. But if it’s blank, or if the words are scrambled, there will be nothing to find. You have to build a maze. A trap. False thoughts. Disguises. Imagine hiding one letter among thousands, with the decks constantly shuffling themselves.

Tonks frowned, absorbing the explanation.

—So it’s not just keeping them out, but turning the labyrinth around on them.

—Exactly —Kingsley confirmed with a faint smile—. But before you can defend yourself, you have to get used to the feeling of someone being inside your mind. It’s like learning to endure the cold: first you have to know what it feels like.

She swallowed.

—Alright. Let’s try.

Kingsley fixed her with an intense gaze and, in a calm voice, said:

—Legilimens.

The world tilted. Tonks felt pressure inside her head, as if something invisible were pushing into her mind, rummaging through her thoughts. Loose images crowded her consciousness: her mother’s kitchen, her father’s laughter, the thrill of receiving her Hogwarts letter…

With a gasp, she looked away and felt Kingsley’s presence withdraw.

—Did you get in?

—I did —he confirmed—. Again. This time, try to block me.

Kingsley repeated the spell. This time she tried to stop him, but she barely resisted before he slipped through her defenses with ease. She saw flashes of her first day at the Ministry, the moment she cast her first successful spell, the time she tripped over a desk in front of Scrimgeour…

—Again —he insisted.

They tried two more times before Tonks slumped back into the chair, exhausted and frustrated.

—It’s normal —Kingsley reassured her—. Before you can block, you have to get used to the feeling of someone else being there. Sooner or later, it will come naturally. But remember this, Tonks: the more ordered your waking mind is, the more likely it will defend itself when you sleep.

Tonks nodded, sweat on her brow and her pride a little bruised, but her eyes bright with determination.

—Then your mind better be ready. Because tomorrow, this maze is going to have traps.

Kingsley smiled.

—That’s what I want to see, rookie.

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AUTHOR’s NOTE:

Hi everyone
This time I’ve posted pretty quickly… basically because the chapter was already written

In this chapter, I felt like exploring Occlumency a bit more. I’ve always thought that in HBP, when Snape asks what the best defence against Dementors is, his answer is Occlumency. Harry says the Patronus (and he’s right), but Snape fails him anyway. Unfairly, of course. Still, I like the idea of Occlumency as another way —quieter, more mental— of resisting them. It doesn’t replace the Patronus, but it does help explain why some witches and wizards endure where others break.

I suppose that, just as Occlumency can be used to defend oneself against different kinds of entities, the Patronus can too… but I won’t spoil anything —we’ll get there

I also really wanted to return to the Marauders’ memories. Not as empty nostalgia, but because they are the root of so many things Remus still carries with him. By the way, I’m compiling all those scenes into a separate story, just the Marauders’ moments (with a bit of context before and after), in case anyone feels like rereading them all together.

As always, thank you for being here and for reading until the end 🖤
See you between the lines.

You can find the illustration for this chapter on my social media —feel free to stop by Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, or TikTok.
All my links are here:
https://lagatakafka.com/links/