Chapter 3

A troll leg umbrella stand?!

The evening light bathed the horizon in orange as Tonks and Moody took up their positions outside the Ministry of Magic.

Hidden behind a dense layer of camouflage enchantments —which her senior had insisted on perfecting to the point of exasperation— they waited with predator-like patience. The shift promised to be long, but Tonks, with her usual enthusiasm, was more than ready.

Rookwood left the Ministry every day at the same time.
Always immaculate, always carrying that smug air that made it seem like the world belonged to him. Their task was simple: follow him, find out who he met with, what he was doing, and most of all, what secrets he was scheming.

“How long do you think he’ll take?” she whispered, shifting her weight discreetly to avoid a cramp.

“He’ll be right on time. That bloke runs on schedule like a bloody Swiss watch,” Moody growled. “But don’t let your guard down, Tonks. First mistake young Aurors make is getting too confident.”

She smiled.
“‘Young’? That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week, you old grouch.”

Moody gave a dry grunt, but the glint of amusement in his expression betrayed him.

“Don’t get cocky, girl. Being young doesn’t excuse being reckless. Stay alert. Constant…”

“,,,vigilance,” Tonks finished, rolling her eyes.

But before she could continue teasing, the Ministry’s main door opened with a sharp click.
Rookwood stepped out with determined strides, black robes billowing behind him.
Tonks straightened immediately, forcing herself not to trip over the curb as she moved.

“There’s our man,” Moody muttered, nodding toward him. “Keep your distance—close enough to track him, far enough not to stand out.”

“I know, I know, Alastor,” Tonks said with a smirk. “I didn’t graduate yesterday. You’re making me feel like it’s my first day. And that was a while ago.”

Moody glanced sideways at her as they blended into the small crowd on the magical street, trailing their target.

“Don’t forget this one’s not just anyone, Tonks. Rookwood’s sly as a fox. If he senses anything off, he’ll vanish before you can say ‘expelliarmus.’”

She nodded seriously. Despite her casual tone, she understood the mission’s importance.

Rookwood turned down a narrow, empty alleyway, and they followed quietly.

Moody motioned for her to take a parallel path while he continued through the alley, his magical eye —ever-whirling— scanning the surroundings.

Tonks moved swiftly, hugging the wall of the adjacent building as she slipped down the side passage. In her head, she ran through every trick to keep the floorboards from creaking, to breathe more softly, to shrink her shadow.

But when she reached the intersection and cautiously peered into the alley…

Empty.

Moody emerged from the far end at the same moment, his brow furrowed.

-Do you see him?” Tonks whispered.

Moody shook his head, jaw clenched.

“He’s vanished.”

Tonks clicked her tongue in frustration and crouched to inspect the ground.

“Apparated? Or a hidden passage?”

Moody grunted, suddenly stopping the restless spin of his electric-blue eye.

“Nothing. Bloody bastard. Slipped right past us.”

Tonks ran a hand through her hair, which had taken on a reddish hue in her frustration without her even noticing.

“What now?”

Moody snorted and turned back toward the main street.

“Now we get out of here before anyone notices two Aurors lurking around like they lost something.”

Tonks followed him, adrenaline still bubbling in her blood.

“Think he saw us?”

Moody shrugged.
“He didn’t change pace, didn’t look back,” he mused. “But he’s clever. If he disappeared, it wasn’t by accident.”

Tonks sighed.
“Well, that wasn’t exactly productive.”

“On the contrary,” Moody said with a crooked grin. “Now we know he’s going out of his way not to be followed. He’s hiding something. That makes him even more interesting.”

Tonks rolled her eyes.
“Great. Glad the mystery’s got you so thrilled. I just wanted a chase with a little more action.”

Moody huffed.
“You always want action.”

“Not always!” she protested.

“Oh no? Who was it that bet she could break into Mundungus’ place without setting off any of his traps?”

“That was a tactical experiment. And a joke.”

“And who insisted on going undercover in an illegal dueling club just because ‘it sounded fun’?”

“That was just for research.”

Moody shook his head, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“You’re a menace.”

“But a stylish menace!” Tonks replied, placing a hand dramatically over her heart.

Moody grunted, resigned.
“Come on, Nymphadora. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Tonks flinched at hearing her full name.
“You were being so nice a minute ago…” she muttered, trailing behind him.

But she didn’t stop smiling. After all, there were still many days ahead.
And many mysteries left to solve.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

After any mission, whether it succeeded or not, Moody always insisted on returning to headquarters to report.
“The Order of the Phoenix stands on immediate, direct, and two-way communication,” he had told her, his deep voice and magical eye fixed on her. “Yes, we hold meetings. But we’re not always all present. That’s why we need someone to gather the intel, connect the dots, and alert the rest if necessary.”

That central figure was Sirius Black.

Moody explained that, due to his status as a fugitive, Sirius didn’t have many options beyond remaining in Grimmauld Place.
Even if his role was important, the Auror couldn’t help but grimace when he spoke of his isolation, which weighed on him like a sentence.
“But when this is over,” he added, in a slightly softer tone, “his story will come to light. And he’ll be a free man again.”

The heavy wooden door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place stood tall and imposing, crowned by a serpent-shaped knocker that shimmered faintly under the dim streetlight.
Just above it, a worn family crest displayed a motto that had faded with time. Tonks didn’t need to read it: she was sure it sounded as pompous as it was arrogant.

Then it happened again: the strange feeling that the crest was watching her. And not just watching. Recognizing her.

She knew it was nonsense, but looked away, unsettled, and followed her senior into the dark corridor. She nearly asked him about the origins of the house, but he had already stepped through the door and was striding into the kitchen.

Tonks walked after him, but something in the atmosphere made her stop short.

The house.
That house felt like a threshold to another world — shadowy, secretive, and somehow eerily familiar.
But that didn’t make any sense… she had never been there before.

The entrance hall was shrouded in gloom, the air thick with dust and the unmistakable scent of old wax clinging to the walls. They were covered in antique ornaments, faded tapestries, and scowling portraits that gave the place an air of desolation.

Her gaze slid down the endless row of portraits. Some only shifted their eyes to follow her; others stared openly, their expressions disturbingly disdainful.
Just like at the entrance, she didn’t just feel watched. She felt judged.

“What are you thinking, Tonks?” she scolded herself.
And yet… she didn’t move. Was it even possible? Did it make sense? Had she been there before?

So lost in thought was she that she didn’t notice the object in her path until it was too late. A loud thud echoed through the hallway.
She stumbled and looked down with a sigh of exasperation.
A troll-leg umbrella stand? Seriously?

Almost instantly, a shrill scream tore through the air.
“TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS! DISGRACE TO MY BLOODLINE!”

The voice rang through the house like a whip crack. Tonks froze.

Before she could react, a figure came running from the kitchen.
It was Remus Lupin.

He passed her with a tense expression and headed straight for a portrait at the foot of the stairs — the source of the screaming.
With a swift flick of his wand, he drew the heavy curtains shut over the painting, silencing it at once. Then he turned and returned to the kitchen without a word, barely glancing at her, as if her clumsiness had annoyed him.

“Charming as ever,” Tonks muttered, scowling.

She bent down with a grimace and righted the horrible stand, then dragged her feet into the kitchen.

Inside, Sirius and Moody were hunched over the table, going over scrolls.
Lupin, seated beside them, didn’t look up. He was flipping through parchment with a furrowed brow, absorbed.
Sirius, on the other hand, met her gaze for a second and offered a quick smile before turning back to his work. Tonks returned the gesture and slumped down beside her senior with a tired sigh.

While Moody explained something about the reports, she let her eyes wander around the kitchen.

Dark wooden paneling, oak cupboards with chipped knobs, shelves cluttered with dusty jars… everything in the house seemed to carry decades of secrets.
In one corner, a snake-shaped clock hissed with each passing second. Above the fireplace, a portrait was watching her with barely concealed disdain.
She could have sworn she’d seen this kitchen before — but she didn’t know when.

Sirius noticed her curiosity out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. He simply rested his chin on his hand, a mischievous glint in his gaze as he watched her survey every inch of the room.

Once she’d scouted the kitchen, Tonks stole a glance at Lupin.
He didn’t look well: pale, sweaty, deep shadows under his eyes, and an unshaven face that gave him a more disheveled appearance. He rubbed his temples with long, bony fingers, as if a sharp headache were bothering him.
When he finally looked up, she quickly averted her gaze and held her breath. Fine, maybe he wasn’t feeling great, but a bit of common courtesy wouldn’t kill him.

Sirius, who seemed to pick up on her thoughts, glanced at the kitchen window.
Through the dirty glass, the waxing moon shone high in the sky, casting its silver glow over the night. He sighed and exchanged a look with Moody.

When the Auror finished speaking, Lupin took the scrolls he’d been reviewing, stood with effort, and left the kitchen without a word, closing the door sharply behind him.

Tonks pressed her lips together.
“Good night to you too,” she muttered, just loud enough for Sirius to hear.

He gave her a faint smile.
“Forgive him, Tonks…” he said, looking at the door with a note of fondness. “He’s having a rough day.”

Tonks shrugged and turned back to Moody, who continued outlining his plans.

“During surveillance shifts, we’ve been tailing Rookwood, but nothing unusual’s come up,” Moody was saying.

“No suspicious movements?” asked Sirius, looking at both Aurors.

Tonks shook her head.
“He hasn’t crossed paths with anyone with a criminal record either?” Sirius pressed.

“Nothing so far,” she replied.

“I’m convinced he’s not clean,” Moody declared, tapping his staff against the table. “So sooner or later, he’ll give us something to pull on.”

“Living as normal a life as anyone,” Tonks mused, resting her elbows on the table. “Eats at the Ministry, finishes work, heads home, has dinner with his wife… If we didn’t suspect him, I’d swear he’s just another boring bureaucrat.”

“Don’t trust that,” Sirius warned, leaning toward her. “Even the worst villains have routines. Family, friends, someone to protect. Sometimes, looking ordinary is exactly what they need.”

Tonks studied him with interest.

Even though they’d barely exchanged a few words, Sirius’s personality intrigued her.
There was something about him — his way of explaining things — that revealed a sharp mind, fierce resilience, and unshakable determination.
And at the same time, he didn’t carry that stiffness or sternness she sensed in other members of the Order.

Everything about him seemed to invite conversation, wit, even laughter, as if the weight of the war could never crush his spirit.

Noticing he seemed to expect a response, Tonks forced herself back to the present.

“Hmm… I’d never thought of it that way.”

“That’s because you’re too good a person, girl,” Moody grunted with a crooked smile. “You still need to learn how to see the world’s worst side.”

She snorted.
“Oh, come on, Moody. I work in the Auror Office, not a nursery.”

Sirius burst into laughter.
“I like this girl,” he said with a grin. “About time someone brought a bit of humor into this place.”

Tonks smiled and rested her chin in one hand as Sirius and Moody went on, swapping stories and theories like the veterans they were.

She nodded now and then, pretending to follow, but truthfully, her mind was elsewhere.

Sirius Black.

She studied him discreetly — the way he gestured naturally, the careless way he smiled, as if the years in Azkaban hadn’t fully dimmed him.
He seemed like a man marked by tragedy, but not defeated by it.
She wondered how much of that attitude was genuine… and how much was just a front.

And, of course, she wondered about the truth behind all the nonsense that had been said about him.

She’d heard so many versions of his story — what The Prophet claimed, the whispers in the Ministry break room, the outlandish theories passed among Aurors who had once hunted him — she didn’t know what to believe anymore.

For years, he’d been the great mystery, the unsolvable case, the man who outwitted the Dementors and escaped the most secure prison in the world.

But no — her interest in Sirius Black wasn’t just professional.
It wasn’t just the technical curiosity of an Auror. There was more.

His lineage. His family.

Tonks knew Sirius was her mother Andromeda’s cousin — her maiden name had been Black.

She didn’t know much else, only that the two of them had been close once, at least until things got complicated for both. Since then, they had never spoken again.

She remembered that whenever Sirius’s name appeared in The Prophet, her mother would sigh and look away. And when he escaped from Azkaban — when his face was on the front page day after day and the wizarding world held its breath — Andromeda didn’t even blink.

She showed no fear or outrage. Just something like… calm.
As if she’d been waiting for that day to come.
As if, deep down, she’d always known Sirius was innocent and should be free, even if the truth had yet to come out.

But beyond those gestures, she never spoke of the Blacks.

For Tonks, that surname was a mystery woven from whispers and half-truths.
She knew her mother had cut ties with the family before she was born, and that there had been reasons for it.

But she had never explained them.

And eventually, Tonks had stopped asking. Every time she brought it up, her mother would wear an undefinable expression — enough to make it clear she shouldn’t push. It wasn’t anger, not even sadness. Just a quiet way of saying: that was a long time ago, and it’s not worth digging up.

All that remained of the Black family in the Tonks household was an old photo album Andromeda kept at the bottom of a drawer — along with her reasons and her silences.

Now, however, Sirius was right there.
For the first time, a tangible piece of that tangled story Andromeda had buried.

She couldn’t help wondering what the real story was between him and her mother.
And what role this family played — a family Tonks barely knew, except for the part that lived on in her veins.

Maybe… this would be her chance to find out.

“Girl, are you listening to me?” Moody growled suddenly, fixing his normal eye on her while the magical one spun wildly in its socket.

Tonks straightened at once.
“Of course!” she answered, far too emphatically to sound convincing.

Sirius laughed again, this time louder.

“Sure she is,” he teased, grinning sideways. “Bet she’s been listening so closely she could repeat your speech word for word, Moody.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in mock offense.

“No need to repeat it. I understood perfectly,” she said, crossing her arms. “Something about… strategy, looking in every direction, and…”

She straightened and looked at both men with a sly smile and dramatic flair.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

Moody grumbled something unintelligible, but his mouth twisted into a resigned grimace as he rolled both eyes — yes, both — while Sirius let out a joyful, doggish bark of laughter.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Remus Lupin stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
The stale, heavy air of a room that had been shut for far too long filled his senses.
He didn’t mind.
At that moment, all he wanted was a bit of rest before the full moon reduced him to a creature without thought or will.

He placed the parchments Moody had given him on a rickety desk and let himself fall onto the bed with a heavy sigh.
His body ached, as if every muscle were protesting in unison.
He had spent the last few days on a protection mission for the Order, patrolling the surroundings of a half-blood family that had received threats.
Exhaustion clung to his bones with sharp claws, but it was the waxing moon that truly weakened him. It wasn’t yet full, but he could already feel it in his skin, in his frayed nerves, in the dull headache clouding his thoughts.

His gaze slid to the nightstand. Beside the lamp sat a small bottle, waiting.
Wolfsbane Potion.
Snape had given it to him that very morning, with his usual tone of restrained disdain. He explained there had been issues with some of the ingredients, that he hadn’t managed to obtain top-quality aconite and had to make adjustments to the brew.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was likely better than nothing.

Remus had accepted it without protest. Anything that might help keep the beast at bay was enough.
He sat up slightly and reached for the bottle. The liquid inside looked murkier than usual, thicker. He turned it in his fingers and sighed. He had no choice. He had to trust that it would, at the very least, prevent the worst.

He set the bottle back down and rubbed his face with both hands.
He was exhausted. Physically, yes, but even more so deep within, as if weariness had made a home in his bones.
Still, there was some comfort in knowing that Grimmauld Place had a strong cellar—a place where Sirius could lock him up when the time came. It didn’t matter what effect the potion had. He wasn’t going to take any risks.
He didn’t want to endanger anyone. Not again. And that was all that really mattered.

A memory slipped into his mind, uninvited.
The first meeting of the new Order, just a few weeks earlier.
His first formal encounter with Arthur and Molly Weasley.

«At last we meet in person, Professor Lupin!» Arthur had said warmly, extending his hand. «Our kids are always saying great things about you. They still remember your classes.»
Remus returned the gesture with a modest smile.
«I’m glad to hear it. They were exceptional students.»
«Fred and George can’t stop telling stories,» added Molly with a smile. «And Ginny says you were the best teacher they ever had.»

Lupin nodded politely and reached out to shake her hand, too.
Molly hesitated for just a second. A blink.
Then she took it naturally, as warm as her husband.
But he noticed. That tiny hesitation. A reflex, unintentional.
It wasn’t rejection. Just fear.
Remus wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time he saw it in someone’s eyes, and it wouldn’t be the last. As always, he said nothing.
The Weasleys already knew.
They knew that for a year, a werewolf had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, to their own children. And no matter how fond they might be of him, that fear still lingered, dormant.

Even so, from that day forward, they treated him just like anyone else. Lupin valued that more than he expected. With them, he felt comfortable—more than he’d anticipated when joining the Order.

But there was something else.
As days went by, Molly began saying that the house was a disaster and that if they really meant to turn it into headquarters, it needed to be livable. Arthur suggested moving in over the summer with the kids to help with the cleaning, and Sirius, delighted, agreed immediately.

Lupin didn’t say anything, though the idea unsettled him. He had nothing against the Weasleys. Quite the opposite: he was fond of them and knew they’d be helpful. The problem wasn’t them.
It was him. The wolf.

And then he saw it again. Just a flash. The same flicker of fear in Molly’s eyes, the same hesitation in Arthur’s expression. That was enough.
The idea of having their children under the same roof as a werewolf had crossed their minds. And for a second, it showed in their faces.

Arthur and Molly quickly covered it up, stammering apologies. And he, with his usual indulgent smile, assured them it was nothing.
That he understood. That he didn’t blame them.
And truly, he didn’t.

Since then, things went on as usual—but with a subtle shift. A slightly more measured courtesy. A tone always gentle. A warmth that, though genuine, seemed to be trying to make up for something.
It wasn’t falsehood. Nor was it hypocrisy.
The Weasleys accepted him, yes. They even cared for him. But that constant need to prove everything was fine… was proof that deep down, they still felt what everyone else did.
That he was different.
And that, Remus understood better than anyone.

The truth was, news of his condition had reached the public long before he was ready. Thanks to Severus Snape, everyone knew that a werewolf had been teaching at Hogwarts.
He remembered it bitterly: the revelation wasn’t an exaggeration, nor a lie. Though it had likely been born of spite.
Sirius Black had just slipped through Snape’s fingers, and in his fury, he sought revenge. And he found it.

Lupin had no choice but to accept it with resignation. Snape hadn’t fabricated anything—he had simply laid out the truth, bare and brutal, at the worst possible time.

And, as always, Remus knew what he had to do: lower his head, accept the reality of his condition, and step away, hide. Disappear.

But what happened afterward was unexpected.
As he packed his things to leave the castle, several students came to find him.
Harry, of course.
But also many others. Some just wanted to thank him. Others protested, said it wasn’t fair. That he had been the best teacher they’d ever had.
Even a couple of seventh-years seemed ready to stand up for him.

He still held that memory close. It reminded him that even in a world full of prejudice and fear, there was still goodness to be found.

He rubbed his temples. He could still hear the echo of Walburga Black’s screams in his head.
And that girl.
The new one.
Always tripping, always making noise. She pounded in his skull. And on top of that, he could feel her eyes on him. Watching.

Why couldn’t she just do her job?

There were already too many people in the Order who knew what he was.
He didn’t want another pair of eyes joining the ones that recalled that note in the Daily Prophet, published over a year ago.
His name alongside the words “werewolf,” printed forever.
He didn’t want more furtive glances.
Or whispers.
Or pity.
He didn’t want to be that again.

He lay back, letting his eyes wander across the ceiling, blackened with age.
His head was spinning.
Too many worries, too many fears dragging him again and again to the same place.
That corner where rest never seemed to come.

But at last, his body demanded peace.
With the moon still hidden behind the clouds, sleep gradually wrapped around him.
And in the darkness of his room, while the world kept turning, Remus Lupin stopped thinking for a while.

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

We continue to follow Tonks through her early days in the Order of the Phoenix.

When I reread Harry Potter, I couldn’t help but wonder: What exactly does the Order do?

Since Harry doesn’t know… neither do we, the readers. All we see are occasional meetings at Grimmauld Place and the odd mysterious mission chasing after Voldemort. That’s it.

So I decided to expand that storyline. I want to give it a more investigative, military, and grown-up tone—full of missions, surveillance, and secrets. And in the background, a healthy dose of Ministry corruption.

Ambitious, I know. Risky too. Let’s see what comes out of it!

We’re also starting to hear Remus Lupin’s voice in the latest, very introspective scene—but I believe it’s necessary to lay the emotional foundation we need to develop his arc.

Remus is, personally, one of my favorite characters. He has such a unique sensitivity and a kind of melancholy that reminds me of the great British romantic novels… Wuthering Heights, anyone?
And I’m also dying to explore what adventures await Tonks inside the house—a house that, though she doesn’t know it yet, is hiding quite a few secrets from her.

Thank you for reading this far. I hope you’re enjoying the journey as much as I am!