Chapter 32

Welcome to the Underworld

After untangling the misunderstanding surrounding Remus and Emmeline, Tonks felt as though an enormous weight had lifted from her shoulders. Her mood, once a turbulent rollercoaster of emotions, now resembled a calm river flowing with renewed lightness and optimism.

Her laughter, more genuine than ever, brightened even the greyest days at the Ministry and at Headquarters. She hummed cheerfully as she worked — so often that Dawlish eventually complained — forcing her to offer her most sincere and composed apologies, though the dreamy sparkle in her eyes stubbornly refused to fade. No criticism, reprimand, or disapproving glance, not even those from her bitter and authoritarian superior, could steal that happiness from her.

When she crossed paths with Emmeline in the corridors, she no longer felt that sharp sting of jealousy or insecurity. In fact, each time they met, the witch offered her a knowing wink, as though reminding her of her own words. “If Remus Lupin gave you this, then you must be important to him”.

That simple affirmation wrapped her heart in a tenderness she had never known before, carrying her gently each night into sleep with a soft smile lingering on her lips.

She did not always find Remus at Headquarters, as he remained deeply involved in his excursions into the werewolf world. Yet that distance only intensified Tonks’s longing to meet him again on some quiet afternoon sharing a drink, the warmth of the fire, and easy conversation with Sirius, exchanging stolen glances and complicit smiles as though the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.

She often lost herself thinking about him, chin resting in her hand as she watched the rainy London autumn sky through her office window, feeling his absence with quiet nostalgia. More than once she realised she had begun humming again, drawing Dawlish’s reproachful stare and forcing her back to her paperwork.

And so, everything began again, showing her unmistakable lovestruck smile once again settling upon her face.

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The glow of spellwork illuminated the room as Tonks deflected each of Kingsley’s attacks with precise control.

The barrage was relentless: a Stunning Spell she repelled swiftly, followed by an Expelliarmus she dodged with an agile turn, and a Confringo she halted behind a shimmering shield.

Kingsley gave her no respite, yet Tonks held the rhythm, her wand dancing through the air as each defensive charm formed at exactly the right moment. At last, Kingsley launched a final strike, a particularly powerful Stupefy. Tonks raised her wand firmly, and the spell collided against her shield in a burst of blue light before dissolving into nothing.

Kingsley lowered his wand and nodded in approval.

—Very good, Tonks.

She released a satisfied breath and lowered her wand as well, smiling. Yes! she had mastered the shield.

As always, Kingsley approached and handed her a bottle of water. Tonks accepted it without hesitation and drank deeply before dropping onto the floor, still feeling adrenaline coursing through her body. Kingsley sat beside her with his usual calm composure.

—Moody will probably want to evaluate you soon —he remarked, his tone grave yet relaxed.

Tonks grimaced instantly.

—Brilliant. Exactly what I needed to make my week even better.

Kingsley let out a short laugh.

—You’ll have no trouble. You’ve improved a great deal.

Tonks huffed, though inwardly she appreciated the praise.

Kingsley rose with effortless elegance and flicked his wand in a smooth motion. Two chairs appeared before them. Tonks raised an eyebrow in immediate suspicion.

—Back to Occlumency —said Kingsley.

Tonks let her head fall back dramatically.

—Do you really think the best moment to start is after exhausting training?

Kingsley regarded her sceptically.

—Do you imagine the situation requiring Occlumency will occur after your attacker has kindly allowed you a nap, served you a cup of hot tea, and offered you a nice muffin?

—A muffin, no… —Tonks replied lightly—. You know I’m more of a biscuit person.

Kingsley smiled and extended a hand toward her.

—Come on, Tonks. We have to begin sometime, and I’d rather you practise fifteen minutes every day than two hours once a week.

With a resigned grunt, Tonks took his hand and stood.

—Fine, fine… but if I survive this, you’re buying me biscuits.

Kingsley shook his head, amused.

—If you survive, you’ll have earned them. Now sit.

Tonks gave one final sigh but dropped into the chair, bracing herself for what was coming.

—Have you been doing the exercises I suggested? Emptying your mind before sleep?

Tonks nodded, though not very convincingly. What fault was it of hers if she simply could not stop thinking about Remus Lupin?

If someone managed to slip into her mind, what would they find? Her chaos? Her unspoken feelings? That awkward certainty that she was thinking more and more about someone she probably shouldn’t?

For a moment, her heart lurched. Would Kingsley notice? No, no! that couldn’t happen!

Kingsley watched her with quiet amusement. He hardly needed Legilimency to notice her discomfort.

—Everything alright, Tonks? —he asked—. Have you been clearing your mind?

—Yes, yes… —she answered at last— but it isn’t easy.

Kingsley nodded and settled comfortably into his chair.

—It isn’t, of course not. Practice is the only way to improve. It happens to all of us —he said gently, without a trace of condescension, as though he understood perfectly.

Still somewhat unsure, Tonks adjusted herself in the chair opposite him.

“Empty your mind, empty your mind”, she repeated inwardly.

Kingsley smiled faintly.

—The more you think about it, the less you’ll succeed. This isn’t about forcing it, but relaxing. If you try to empty your mind by force, you’ll never manage it —he explained calmly, as though they had all the time in the world.

Tonks tried to follow his advice. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply. When she opened them again, she met her partner’s dark, penetrating gaze.

—Legilimens.

Tonks felt something pushing its way into her mind. Instinctively, she resisted, as though shoving against a door with all her strength to keep it closed. Pressure built inside her head; her muscles tightened  and suddenly, the force gave way.

She opened her eyes, her thoughts muddled. Kingsley watched her calmly.

—You’re doing it wrong —he said—. Don’t fight. Don’t resist with anger. Just… let yourself fall into the emptiness. It’s the opposite of what you’re doing.

Tonks breathed unevenly, as though she had just run several miles without stopping. She hated this.

—Moody isn’t good at Occlumency either —she muttered disdainfully, still catching her breath.

—Moody doesn’t need Occlumency —Kingsley replied calmly.

Tonks snorted.

—Right… I’m sure he’d have cuffed and locked up the attacker before they even blinked.

Kingsley tilted his head thoughtfully.

—That’s not what I mean. Moody only has one natural eye. It’s harder to penetrate the mind of someone who doesn’t have both.

Tonks blinked, surprised.

—Is that true?

—I doubt even Severus could manage it —Kingsley added, humour flickering in his eyes.

Tonks fell silent, considering this. She knew Kingsley had trained in Occlumency with both Dumbledore and Severus Snape, the latter extraordinary in the discipline. Unable to resist, she winked her left eye and mimicked Moody’s magical eye spinning wildly in every direction.

—I don’t need Occlumency either —she declared with mock solemnity.

Kingsley smiled.

—Come on, Tonks. You know it would benefit you.

She sighed dramatically and returned to her normal appearance, though a playful spark lingered in her expression. Settling back into her chair, she faced him again as he resumed his focused demeanour.

Tonks closed her eyes once more, breathing deeply, trying to follow Kingsley’s guidance. When she opened them, she met his gaze again.

—Legilimens.

This time, she didn’t resist. She let go. She did not tense her mind as though forcing a door shut.

In her thoughts, she felt herself falling. Not with fear, but with the gentle lightness of a leaf settling upon water. Weightlessness surrounded her, as though she no longer possessed mass, only silence.

She imagined sinking into a dark ocean, deep waters sliding softly across her skin.

There were no thoughts.
No memories.
Only a vast, peaceful abyss.

Her body drifted downward, cradled by an unseen current.

Peace.

Nothing else. Almost nothing else.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the training room. Kingsley observed her with a half-smile, head slightly inclined.

—I think we’ll leave it there for today —he said serenely, rising to his feet.

He glanced at Tonks, still slumped in her chair, and winked.

—It’s quite clear there’s something —or rather, someone— occupying your mind strongly enough to keep you distracted.

Colour surged up Tonks’s neck like wildfire, and before she could stop it, her hair shot into sharp, scarlet spikes, betraying her mercilessly.

—Oh, honestly! —she protested, jumping to her feet— That’s not true!

But Kingsley was already walking away, his calm stride accompanied by a barely concealed smile.

Frowning, still flushed, she hurried after him, determined to correct the misunderstanding, though deep down she knew he had struck the mark perfectly.

—That’s not what you think! —she insisted, quickening her pace.

Kingsley glanced back over his shoulder, his voice warm with amusement.

—Come on. Let’s get those biscuits —you’ve earned them.

Tonks stumbled over her own foot, feeling the blush deepen further.

Then, after a moment of exaggerated indignation, she burst into laughter and ran after him, silently swearing she would practise Occlumency every night.

Every. Bloody. Night.

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Tonks returned from training with a mug of coffee in hand, determined to finish the report she had left halfway through, though not without cursing her lack of control in Occlumency. And, at times, in her Metamorphmagus abilities as well.

As she passed her mentor’s office, she slowed. Two voices were arguing behind the half-open door. She thought she heard her name.

—It’s standard procedure —Scrimgeour was saying in his usual clipped tone—. Every Ministry employee must spend time in the Department of Mysteries at least once. It’s part of their training.

—Nonsense —Moody’s rough voice growled—. Tonks doesn’t need that. She doesn’t need to waste her time wandering through corridors where the air moves on its own.

A brief silence followed, heavy with tension.

—Precisely because the air moves on its own —Scrimgeour replied, lowering his voice—. Because even you don’t know what’s in there, Alastor. That’s why we rotate staff.

Tonks frowned. She was about to slip away unnoticed when a sudden bark cut through the air.

—Get in here, Tonks.

She clenched her teeth. Clearly Moody had caught her eavesdropping with that magical eye of his. She stepped into the office cautiously. Scrimgeour stood rigid behind the desk, as though he had been expecting her.

—Auror Tonks —he said without preamble—. You have been temporarily assigned to the Department of Mysteries as part of the institutional immersion protocol.

Tonks blinked. She glanced at Moody, who stood with his jaw set tight.

—Is that mandatory? —she asked carefully.

Moody snorted, never taking his eye off Scrimgeour.

—You know what I think —he muttered, lowering his voice—. But yes. It is. For everyone.

Tonks looked from one to the other.

She understood. This was not Moody’s idea. Nor did it feel entirely like Scrimgeour’s personal decision. Merely a formality imposed from somewhere higher up. One of those rulings no one questioned, yet everyone obeyed.

—When do I start? —she asked simply.

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Tonks huffed as she looked down at the absurd number of identification badges hanging around her neck.

Aside from her beloved Auror badge — gleaming proudly on her chest — she carried a collection of additional credentials.

Her summons notice. Her training clearance. Her rotation request — signed by Moody most reluctantly — his furious, ink-heavy strokes nearly tearing through the parchment in visible protest.

Oh, and a form she had been required to complete and sign no fewer than ten times.

I solemnly swear that I will not speak of what I see, will not question what is not explained to me, and will not attempt to discover on my own more than is deemed necessary.

She raised a sardonic eyebrow at the mantra concluding the endless parchment. Essentially, a promise to look without seeing, and to learn without understanding anything at all.

—I’m not even allowed to ask questions… —she muttered under her breath, folding her arms—. Moody was right. What a farce.

She stood before a small security booth guarding access to a lift that descended into the Ministry’s depths, where the Department of Mysteries was housed.

Tonks exhaled sharply, staring at the door secured with no fewer than four magical locks. A doorway to hell. Thoughtfully signposted, at that.

Of course a place called the Department of Mysteries couldn’t possibly be located on some pristine white beach… No. Better to bury it in the entrails of the wizarding world.

She had been required to surrender her wand to a marble-faced official who appeared to have been stationed in that underground booth longer than the Ministry itself had existed.

His skin was so pale it seemed almost waxen. Tonks had to restrain a laugh — she was fairly certain that if held up to the light, one might read through his skull the motto hanging above the sealed door:

For the greater good of the wizarding community.

In gold letters. Firm. Immaculate.

Like a warning. Or a prayer.

Tonks sighed.

—They might as well write “Welcome to the Underworld.”

The man extended his hand without looking at her, and Tonks retrieved her wand as though it were being returned in a maximum-security prison. The bureaucrat then reviewed her identification for the third time, sliding each card through a slot that emitted a different mechanical beep.

None of them pleasant.

—Can we begin? —she asked, noticing her voice climbing slightly higher than she would have liked.

The man did not look up.

—We will wait for your rotation partner.

—My partner…? —Tonks began, but then she heard it.

Hurried footsteps echoed against the stone corridor.

She turned just in time to see a familiar figure appear, coat slightly askew, hair dishevelled, spectacles magnifying his eyes comically, a folder nearly slipping from his grasp. The little bell he always wore around his neck jingled faintly in time with his boots.

—I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m late! The lift got stuck between Level Eight and Nine, and there was a notice on the glass that said “Do not stare directly at the symbols”, but of course I stared, and then…

—Booth —Tonks interrupted, unable to suppress her smile.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

The bureaucrat glared at him as though tardiness were a criminal offence against the magical universe.

—Wand —he ordered in the hollow voice of someone long divorced from joy.

The Auror handed it over hastily, and the official began examining his credentials one by one, with the sacred deliberation of a man who believed paperwork to be a divine act.

Tonks sighed again, resigned.

She would have the pleasure of watching bureaucracy in motion for another half hour.

At least she was no longer alone.

—Come on —she said quietly, more to herself than to him, once the official returned Booth’s wand—. One doesn’t enter the Underworld every day.

Her partner offered a half-smile just as the bureaucrat shot them both another disapproving glare and began unlocking — with visible reluctance — the series of enchanted locks guarding the entrance to what would prove to be the strangest rotation of her career.

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Tonks had no idea how many levels lay beneath them, but she suspected… many.

More than the Ministry would ever admit to in writing, certainly.

They walked in silence along a vast, solemn corridor behind the translucent-skinned bureaucrat, who had not addressed them since returning Booth’s wand and reviewing their identification for the fifth time.

The echo of their footsteps resounded against towering walls of black marble. Broad columns curved into heavy arches overhead, and torches set at regular intervals cast a flickering amber glow across the polished stone, making everything seem to shift in silence, as though the corridor itself were breathing with them.

It felt like a ceremonial catacomb.
Not one built to bury the dead, but to guard secrets.

At her side, Booth walked without lifting his eyes from a battered folder filled with scribbled notes and dog-eared pages.

—Have you actually studied for this rotation? —Tonks asked quietly, arching a sceptical eyebrow.

—Studied is perhaps too strong a word… —Booth replied without looking up—. But I have done some research.

Tonks smiled. For Booth, “research” was the closest anyone could come to intensive study without becoming a taciturn academic.

—I think it could be… interesting —he murmured.

—Moody says this rotation is a waste of time —Tonks commented, a trace of disdain in her voice—. That it won’t serve any purpose.

Booth finished reading a handwritten note before responding.

—No. It won’t serve any purpose… if that’s the attitude you bring to it.

Tonks stopped and stared at him, perplexed. But Booth was not joking. He closed the folder and tucked it under his arm, fixing her with a surprisingly serious expression.

—Look, Tonks. Since you have to do this rotation, you might as well make something of it. Learn something, even if it’s only to prove Moody wrong.

Tonks snorted and rolled her eyes before resuming her pace. She hated being spoken to as though she were missing the obvious. And she particularly disliked it when Booth slipped into his sensible Ravenclaw mode.

As if realising he had sounded sterner than intended, he turned towards her. Tonks looked up, mildly irritated — but what she found was the usual glint in his eye, more conspiratorial than critical.

—Come on, how many times will we be allowed to poke our noses into the far reaches of the Department of Mysteries? —he nudged her lightly— Let’s enjoy it.

Tonks studied him for a second longer. Then, for the first time since they had descended into that world of stone and whispers, she smiled properly.

—Alright —she said—. Let’s enjoy it.

And they continued after the bureaucrat, whose footsteps were already fading into the next corridor.

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That same afternoon, as Tonks crossed the threshold of Headquarters, her heart gave a small leap.

She recognised Remus’s deep voice drifting from the kitchen, where he was speaking with Sirius.

She spun around — nearly knocking over the troll-leg umbrella stand — and hastily smoothed her hair, tugging rebellious strands into place before stepping through the doorway wearing her brightest smile.

There he was, hair slightly dishevelled, that fleeting light in his eyes seeming — absurdly — to shine only for her.

A thought slipped into her mind: Had he missed her too?

The idea sent an almost childish flutter through her stomach.

Overwhelmed by her own feelings — and desperately hoping, for Merlin’s sake, not to turn into that scarlet porcupine again — she quickly shifted her attention toward Sirius, who greeted her from the corner while rummaging through a cabinet.

—Oi, Tonks! —Sirius called with his usual easy cheer— Care to join us for a bit of whisky?

—Since when do you ask? —she replied, delighted.

Sirius laughed and retrieved a half-empty bottle from the back of the shelf, pouring three generous measures with little ceremony.

—So then —he said— how’s life as the Ministry’s star Auror?

Tonks dropped into a chair with theatrical exhaustion.

—I’ve been assigned a rotation in the Department of Mysteries.

—Oh? That sounds… educational.

—I’m not sure about educational —she echoed dryly— but it’s certainly mandatory. I’ve no idea what I’m even supposed to do there yet. Sounds more like “signature required to remain employed by the Ministry.”

She paused, recalling Booth’s words.

—Still… I suppose it might be interesting. Or at least strange. And honestly, that’s enough for me.

Remus had looked up. Tonks held his gaze for a moment, amused, offering him a soft smile.

—I imagine you’d go willingly —she added with a half laugh— A guided tour through the Ministry’s secrets… sounds very much your sort of thing, doesn’t it?

Remus tilted his head slightly, as though genuinely considering it.

—Yes —he said after a moment— it does sound fascinating. Provided they don’t erase your memory on the way out.

Tonks laughed, and Sirius raised his glass.

—Well then —he declared— to useless but interesting training programmes.

—To useless training! —Tonks echoed between laughs.

Their glasses clinked softly.

Tonks glanced at Remus. He had joined the toast, though almost automatically. His expression remained distant, as though part of him stood elsewhere entirely. Sirius noticed immediately.

—And you, Moony? Everything alright?

—I’ve been with the werewolves —Remus replied, leaning against the counter— trying to gather information.

—Anything new?

—Some things. But it’s slow.

His voice was quiet, threaded with something deeper than fatigue. Tonks felt it instantly: a tension beneath his usual calm, like a storm hidden behind still water.

A dull crash echoed from the corridor, followed by muffled complaints and something falling over.

—Oh, for heaven’s sake —Sirius groaned— that elf is going to drive me mad.

He stood and left the kitchen, the door swinging half-open behind him.

Remus and Tonks were left alone. Firelight flickered across the room, the scent of burning wood and the soft crackle of flames filling the silence with an intimacy that seemed to thicken the air itself.

For a moment, warmth settled between them.

Tonks turned her glass slowly between her fingers, not quite daring to look at him.

—I’m glad to see you —she said at last, aiming for casual and missing slightly.

Remus lifted his eyes. He looked at her for a second… then another. Finally, he nodded.

—So am I.

Tonks frowned faintly. Something lingered in his expression — a subtle unease, a barely perceptible tremor that made him seem unusually vulnerable that evening.

—Are you alright? —she asked gently, leaning closer.

Remus’s gaze faltered a moment too late, catching the pale curve of her neck where her scarf loosened, the warmth of skin visible above the knitted jumper that suited her far too well.

A savage, instinctive surge tore through him like a strike of claws.

—Yes, of course. Just… a long day —he said, forcing the images from his mind.

When she continued watching him, he shifted in his chair, grasping for safer thoughts.

—It isn’t easy dealing with werewolves, you know. They trust no one. Not even themselves.

Tonks nodded quietly.

She finished her whisky and leaned forward to reach for the bottle. In doing so, her hand brushed Remus’s, resting near his empty glass.

The contact was brief enough to go unnoticed, yet the instant their fingers touched, Remus’s heart lurched violently, betraying the composure he struggled to maintain.

Heat rose sharply along his neck, igniting beneath his skin, and he knew at once it had nothing to do with Firewhisky.

—More? —she asked, lifting the bottle, that familiar mischievous spark dancing in her eyes.

—Ah… yes. Thank you —he answered, striving for casualness.

Tonks refilled his glass carefully. Her smile lingered, as though she sensed something unspoken, though she said nothing.

Remus fixed his attention on the trembling flame of the lamp above the table, as if its steady light might calm the restless turmoil in his chest.

He swallowed and forced himself back into conversation.

—I’m not sure what Dumbledore hopes to achieve. I don’t think they refuse to share information out of unwillingness. They simply… don’t have it. The whole thing is beginning to feel like a waste of time.

He looked at her. That was his mistake. Her eyes shone with disarming tenderness — and so did her smile.

—A waste of time? —she repeated, placing her hand gently over his in instinctive comfort.

The moment her skin touched his, the same violent jolt surged through him again, racing through his blood with overwhelming force. His body reacted instantly, and he summoned every ounce of restraint not to betray it.

He forced his gaze toward the lamplight once more.

—But Remus… you’re doing extraordinary work. More than most of us ever could.

Her words reached him as though through water. Tonks’s hand remained over his, tracing absent-minded, soothing movements, yet instead of calming him, they only deepened the battle raging beneath his composure.

At last, after several endless seconds, Tonks withdrew her hand carefully.

The gesture was as gentle as the touch itself, yet the absence it left behind hurt far more.

—And don’t look so gloomy, Remus —she added brightly— Christmas is nearly here, and that’s always a good enough reason to celebrate!

—Nearly Christmas? —Sirius interrupted, re-entering the kitchen with a raised eyebrow— There’s still a month to go, Tonks.

Her laughter filled the room, light and musical.

Remus smiled in relief, silently grateful for Sirius’s return. He doubted he could have endured another minute alone with her.

Unaware of the storm she stirred within him, Tonks lifted her glass once more with cheerful determination.

—To Christmas!

Sirius joined the toast with an amused snort. Remus raised his glass as well, striving for indifference, though his body still remembered the warmth of her touch.

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Tonks closed the door of her flat with a gentle push and let out a breathless laugh, still lost in her thoughts.

Her coat fell onto the sofa in a careless motion, her boots abandoned by the door. She drifted into the kitchen almost without thinking, her body still lit by the thrill of seeing him again.

She poured herself a glass of wine and held it between her fingers, watching the deep reflection in the dark liquid. She took a sip, letting the warmth spread down her throat while her mind clung stubbornly to Remus, to his elusive smile, the depth of his gaze, the steady calm of his voice, and the warmth of his hands.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.

Then she let herself fall onto the sofa, her body yielding to the tide of desire moving through her. She settled back against the cushions, parting her legs with a faint involuntary tremor.

Her fingers sought the heat between her thighs, slipping beneath the fabric of her knickers, and a soft gasp escaped her lips as she felt her own dampness, the inevitable answer of her body to everything she had been holding in.

Remus.

Her breathing deepened as she allowed herself to imagine him closer.

She closed her eyes and pictured his hands, his body over hers, their breaths mingling. Her skin burned beneath her own touch, each movement guided by the longing he had ignited in her without even realising it.

And all she could do was let her body remember him — let her skin imagine him, let her hands recreate him — while her voice, barely more than a whisper, shaped his name as she edged nearer and nearer to release.

She wanted to feel him.
She wanted to lose herself in him. In his hair, his breathing, in the warm weight of his body.

Remus.

Her fingers moved again and again, a broken moan slipping from her throat as her back arched, surrendered to the intensity of her own desire.

At last, Tonks let out a final, trembling breath.

She remained still for a moment, eyes half-closed, feeling the heat ebb slowly, leaving behind a sweet, lingering shiver.

She smiled, satisfied, and let her hand rest lightly over her stomach, as though she might hold on to the sensation a little longer, the one his memory had left behind.

Remus’s name still moved through her thoughts, threaded through each slow, steady beat of her heart.

With a lazy sigh, she pushed herself up from the sofa, her skin still warm, her breathing slowly returning to its natural rhythm. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where her glass of wine waited, forgotten on the counter.

She took it in both hands and drank a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the wine mingle with the heat still lingering beneath her skin. Resting an elbow on the table, she idly turned the glass between her fingers, her smile widening — mischievous now — as her thoughts remained hopelessly tangled around him.

If everything went well…

She bit her lip feeling a shiver running through her.

If everything went well, the waiting would be worth it. Lonely nights would become shared dawns, restrained longing transformed into whispered touches in the half-dark. She imagined Remus finally yielding to what he tried so hard to deny, letting himself go, giving her everything she secretly knew he longed for too.

Tonks let out a quiet laugh and took another sip of wine, feeling light, satisfied… in love.

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That night, in the dim quiet of his room, Remus Lupin let himself fall heavily onto the bed. A deep, rough sigh escaped his chest, as though torn from somewhere far deeper than breath alone.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

The turmoil of sensations that had overtaken him that afternoon still vibrated through his body, shifting restlessly beneath his skin with an intensity impossible to ignore.

But, for better or worse, it was nothing new. He had felt it before — the restless surge of energy, the ravenous appetite, the irritability, the erosion of reason, the complete surrender to something far more instinctive than human thought.

He had even allowed himself to name it.

Wolf hunger.

Yes. The term spoke for itself.

It was an unsettling sensation, a fusion of carnal desire and primitive instinct. As lustful as it was feral, as pleasurable as it was dark. But more than that, it was tearing, dangerous… and bloody.

He felt it in every fibre of his being, a shadowed echo reverberating within him. The wolf clawed and growled and howled beneath his skin, striving to seize control of his mind and the reins of his body, asserting its presence, its ferocity… and its hunger.

He hated feeling like this, so easily stirred by the nearness of living flesh. It made him feel monstrous, animal, and unbearably… inhuman.

And he knew — painfully — that Tonks’s proximity, her mere presence, had awakened that fierce longing he knew too well and despised within himself.

Ashamed, he dragged a hand over his face, pressing his fingers hard against his temples, as though he might erase the memory of that moment when he feared he might cease to be master of his own body.

Tonks.

Her name slipped into his thoughts before he could stop it.

He shook his head sharply, as though the motion alone might dislodge her image. She was only a friend. Brilliant, loyal, amusing. Yes — objectively attractive — but that meant nothing.

What he had felt was not desire. Not tenderness. Not love, and certainly not his… It was not even human.

It was the wolf’s nature playing tricks on his mind, awakening instincts that had no place in his real life.

He tried to reason it through.

That sudden rush of appetite and frenzy had been nothing more than the influence of the moon.

The moon, which that month hung unnaturally close to the earth, stirring the wolf nearly two weeks before the full moon itself.

That was all. Nothing more than a physical response, the pull of an unusually powerful lunar cycle toward a companion, a woman, who had simply come too close that day.

A purely biological phenomenon.

Nothing else.

Yet understanding it rationally did nothing to quiet the fear. Because that wild impulse had shaken him, had made him doubt himself. He did not know whether he had wanted to kiss her… or bite her.

And that fear… that fear was real.

He could almost feel the wolf’s breath at the back of his neck. Waiting. Watching.

But temporary. Finite.

He turned onto his side and looked toward the rising crescent moon outside the window.

When the cycle ended, everything would return to normal.

All he had to do was endure, remain patient… and keep his distance.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Author’s Note

Well… this is the first sex scene I have ever written in my life.

And I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve spent HOURS! DAYS! Actually: rereading, rewriting, rethinking, questioning every single word. Turns out writing emotional tension is one thing… writing desire is something else entirely.

Maybe I should start reading actual erotic literature for research purposes. I’ve never read Fifty Shades of Grey… perhaps it would help with inspiration. Who knows.

Jokes aside, I hope you enjoyed the scene. And more importantly, I hope you noticed the nuance behind it: the mirror between what Tonks feels and what Remus experiences when confronted with the very same emotion.

From this point on, several moments in the story will work like this: reflections of one another, two people living the same feeling through completely different lenses.

I’ve also taken the liberty of expanding a small piece of werewolf lore regarding Remus’s condition. To me, it feels almost obvious — perhaps even unavoidable — that if the moon draws closer to the Earth, the wolf’s instincts would awaken earlier and with greater intensity. That is what he believes is happening here… and, in part, he may not be entirely wrong.

I hope you enjoy walking through those mirrors with them and me.

You can see the illustration for this chapter on my social media, feel free to stop by Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr or TikTok.
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