Chapter 34

More Human… Less Wolf.

Tonks walked through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic without enthusiasm, dragging her feet as though each step cost her more than the last.

The day promised to be endless.

That morning she had been assigned to rotate through the Department of Mysteries. Again.

She had spent hours in the Time Room with Booth, seated before enchanted clocks that measured biological rhythms and lunar cycles. Mind-numbing boredom.

Especially for her.

Although Booth tried to disguise it by leafing through his folder with an air of interest, Tonks knew he was just as eager to get out of there.

At last they left the room, stretching stiffly, ready to return to work that at least made sense. And that was when they saw him.

Augustus Rookwood.

He was walking down the corridor in the opposite direction, elegant and cold like a portrait from another era. He barely spared Booth a glance. But his eyes stopped on Tonks.

She did not look away.

And for a few seconds, the corridor seemed to freeze.

Rookwood said nothing. He simply turned at the end of the hall and disappeared into the shadows, as if the darkness belonged to him.

Tonks let out a breath she had not realised she was holding.

They kept walking. Booth returned to his folder. She to her thoughts.

They passed a sealed black metal door with a number engraved upon it: Room Fourteen.

Tonks glanced at it sideways. The same door she had tried to slip through a few nights before. The one that had set off every alarm in the place.

—There are a few rooms — the restricted ones — that are designated by number rather than name —Booth commented without looking up from his papers—. I wonder what must be in there.

Tonks did not reply. She wished she did not know.

Back in the Auror Office, the atmosphere was the same as always

Kingsley was reviewing reports with his usual imperturbable calm, while Moody —his magical eye spinning in every direction— was grumbling under his breath about the incompetence of the new recruits.

—You’re late, Tonks —Moody snapped without even looking at her.

—Only a little, Mad-Eye —she shot back, trying to sound casual. But her voice came out sharper than she had intended.

She forced a smile, hoping it might soften her tone, but Moody did not even raise his head.

Kingsley, on the other hand, allowed himself a teasing smile before speaking in his measured voice:

—One of these days you’ll arrive on time. Perhaps even with your hair properly combed.

Tonks clicked her tongue.

—And lose my charm? Not a chance.

The reply came automatically, almost without thought, as if she were clinging to her usual lightness. But neither the joke nor the smile that followed managed to loosen the knot in her chest.

She dropped into the chair in front of her desk, which was exactly as she had left it the day before.

And the day before that.

Untidy, papers scattered everywhere, with a massive map spread over everything else, pinned down at the corners with paperweights to keep it from rolling up.

The mere sight of it gave her a headache.

She had spent the entire week cross-checking reports and constructing that labyrinth of lines and notes… and the more time she devoted to it, the less useful it seemed. On top of that, her concentration was at its lowest, making it nearly impossible to make progress.

—That map, Tonks —Moody interrupted suddenly, fixing her with precise focus through his magical eye—. Have you checked whether it matches the locations I gave you yesterday?

—I’m reviewing it, Mad-Eye —she replied, striving for patience. Yet her voice carried an edge of irritation she could not conceal.

Without another word, Tonks forced herself to focus on the map. But her mind drifted to another day, another place, another memory.

It had been after that ill-fated watch.

Tonks had gone with Moody to Grimmauld Place that very afternoon.

The house was wrapped in its characteristic oppressive silence, as though it were holding its breath.

Not a single voice. Only the creak of wood beneath their footsteps, as if the walls themselves knew something was wrong. The strange thing was that a meeting had been called.

Tonks shrugged off her coat and let it fall over a chair, her gaze sweeping quickly across the room. It did not take her long to meet Sirius’s eyes — the only one present.

—Just you? —Moody asked, surprised by the absence of anyone else in the room.

Sirius lifted his head and offered a strained smile.

—News?

—News —Moody confirmed—. There have been… “issues” during the last watch.

Sirius’s expression hardened at once, and he glanced at his cousin. Tonks exhaled sharply and dropped into a chair with a defeated gesture. Without a word, Sirius stood and poured her a glass of whisky, as if he had known in advance she would need it.

Moody briefly explained what had happened with Rookwood and the higher-ups at the Ministry, who insisted there was nothing unusual about it.

—In short —Tonks said, swirling her whisky— we got a pat on the back and a kick up the arse.

Sirius smiled at the phrasing, but there was no humour in his eyes.

—They haven’t mentioned anything in the Prophet, have they?

—They’re not interested in mentioning anything. They’d silenced it all before anyone could even start wondering whether something was going on. As always.

—And what’s the official version?

—That we imagined it. That it was fatigue.

Tonks repeated the words without emotion, taking the glass from her cousin.

—That the Department of Mysteries plays tricks on the eyes —she added dryly—. That sometimes it looks like someone is there, but no one is. That we’re the mad ones. And that Augustus Rookwood —even though he wasn’t there— if he had been, would have every right to roam wherever he pleases.

—And what does Bones say? —Sirius asked, turning to Moody—. She’s never been part of the Order, but she’s always sided with Dumbledore, hasn’t she?

—The same as always —Moody replied, pouring himself a whisky—. That there’s no proof. That they can’t cause alarm. That there are enough headlines already… and that her position is too good to risk. Same as Rufus. Same as Cornelius.

The old Auror took a long swallow and set the glass down heavily on the table before adding:

—She didn’t say that. I’m saying it. But it’s true. It’s easier to deny the truth than to prepare for what’s coming.

Sirius stepped closer, set his glass down on the table, and folded his arms.

—I’ve seen this before. This is how it started the first time.

—Yes. And this time it’s even worse —Moody replied—. Because now the enemy doesn’t wear masks. He’s inside. Sitting in offices. With important surnames.

There was a silence.

—The truth is, I used to think the situation we’re living through —the social climate, the political atmosphere— was born out of uncertainty —Tonks reflected—. But it’s worse than that. It isn’t ignorance. What we’re dealing with is active denial.

She glanced at the others before continuing.

—Everyone knows something doesn’t add up. But if they admit it… they have to act. So it’s easier to discredit the witnesses, silence Dumbledore… close ranks around Fudge…

—Leave us isolated —Sirius added.

—And use discredit as a form of control —Moody finished—. They’ve already done it to you, Sirius. To Harry. To Albus. And now they’re trying it with us.

Silence fell again for a moment. Tonks sighed and spoke once more.

—The most frustrating part isn’t that they deny You-Know-Who’s return…

She lifted her eyes, searching for her mentor’s.

—It’s going against the system —she said, resignation in her voice—. A system that’s completely rotten from the inside.

Moody snorted.

—That’s nothing new, girl. It’s always been like that with the Department of Mysteries.

Tonks stared at him, scandalised. How could that possibly be normal?

—Why? Why is there a double standard?

Moody shrugged.

—Think about who runs that section —Sirius said patiently.

Tonks did not answer. But she knew.

Of course. The crème de la crème of the wizarding world. Families like the Malfoys. Influential in every circle of high society.

Tonks looked back at Moody, who went on to explain:

—No one wants to know what’s brewing down there. They’re untouchable, unquestionable. As if they were the high priests of some ancient religion who have woven themselves into the system from within. The Department of Mysteries isn’t just a research centre; it’s the summit of magical power. And political power. And no one dares move a single stone without the whole castle trembling.

—“For the greater good of the wizarding community” —Tonks murmured, her gaze distant.

Sirius grimaced.

—Brilliant. So there’s an entire floor of the Ministry run by a cult of enlightened zealots… and the only security measure in place is to look the other way.

—No one will risk going against them —Moody said—. They could lose their jobs. Or themselves… look at Sturgis.

Silence settled for a moment as Tonks absorbed it all.

—Once again, the only thing we can do is keep watching —Moody concluded.

Tonks let out a frustrated breath.

—Right. As if that’s going to change anything, boss.

Moody shook his head.

—No, no. Didn’t you notice Malfoy’s expression? He was thoroughly displeased, even if he tried to feign indifference.

The old Auror paused for a second, waiting until his pupil met his eye.

—I’m almost glad the alarms went off. I’m certain you interrupted whatever Rookwood was doing.

Tonks straightened slightly, but did not interrupt.

—What we need to do is gain ground gradually —the old Auror continued—. Tighten the net around the Department of Mysteries. Make sure they don’t think they’ll get away with it this time. Let them grow nervous. Let them rush. At some point, they’ll make a mistake. I’m sure of it.

Tonks nodded. Yes, she wanted to believe that. She needed to believe it.

When the meeting ended, Moody left quickly, as he always did.

Tonks took the opportunity to approach Sirius, trying to sound casual, though her unease was evident.

—By the way, Sirius… have you seen Remus? —she murmured—. I haven’t heard from him in days…

Sirius looked at her. He did not seem surprised by the question.

—He’s on a mission. Left a few days ago.

Tonks lowered her gaze.

—Don’t worry, Tonks. He moves best among werewolves —Sirius added, trying to sound reassuring—. You know how careful he is. He’ll be fine.

A door slamming jolted her out of her thoughts.

She blinked, returning to the present. She was at the Ministry. Sitting at her desk. Staring at a parchment she hadn’t actually read.

Kingsley cast her a concerned look.

—You’re very quiet today, Tonks —he remarked, raising an eyebrow—. Everything all right?

—Perfectly —she lied with a quick smile.

From his desk, Moody growled.

—If you’ve got time to drift off, Tonks, you’ve got time to check that map again.

—Yes, yes, Mad-Eye —she replied, attempting a light tone, though her voice came out duller than she intended.

She lowered her eyes to the map, but she wasn’t seeing it. Not really.

In truth, there was another reason for her irritability. And it had nothing to do with patrols, endless rotations, or senseless politics.

She hadn’t seen Remus in nearly two weeks. She told herself she shouldn’t feel like this —that she had no right to be so unsettled by his absence.

She couldn’t help it.

At the end of the day, she wanted only one thing.

To see him. To know he was all right. To be with him.

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That afternoon, just before leaving, Tonks saw Moody getting ready to go. His cloak was already slung over his shoulders, a bundle of documents tucked under his arm.

—Where are you headed, Alastor?

Moody lifted the papers slightly.

—I’m going to headquarters. To drop this off for Lupin.

It was an impulse. Or rather, a decision she had been carrying around for hours. Tonks stepped closer and reached out toward her mentor.

—I’ll take it, Alastor. You go home.

The Auror studied her for a moment but said nothing. He simply nodded and handed over the reports.

Without giving him a chance to add anything else, Tonks slipped out of the office, pulling her cloak over her shoulders as she went.

She didn’t stop to wonder whether it was sensible. She didn’t consider whether she was being too obvious. She didn’t even think about whether she would find him.

She only knew she couldn’t endure another night with that doubt lodged in her chest.

She just wanted to know what was going on with Remus. She was tired of imagining.

The house was silent. The entrance hall, gloomy. The kitchen, empty.

She climbed the stairs, determined. Sirius was by the fire. Alone. Again. He looked up when he saw her.

—Hey, Tonks, what are you doing here?

—I’ve come to drop these reports off for Lupin —she said, setting the parchments down on a small table beside a bottle of Firewhisky—. Where is he? I haven’t seen him in a while.

She said it too quickly to sound casual, but she didn’t care.

—Is he still on assignment?

Sirius looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher and, for a moment, said nothing. Then, instead of answering, he turned his head and gestured toward the window.

Tonks followed his gaze and understood at once.

The full moon dominated the night sky and, though partially veiled by clouds, its meaning was impossible to ignore.

He wasn’t far away. He was right there.

But he wasn’t himself anymore.

—He’s unwell —Sirius murmured, his voice low, as though the words carried weight.

Tonks felt foolish. Between endless hours at work, patrols, the Department of Mysteries, and her own spiralling thoughts, she hadn’t paid attention to the lunar phase. Amid all the noise, she had forgotten to look up at the sky.

—I see… —she managed to say.

It was such an insignificant answer compared to what she was feeling that it almost sounded like a mockery.

Her eyes flickered toward Sirius, trying to decipher whether he had grasped the true undercurrent of her concern for Remus. Sirius, who seemed to read her with unsettling ease, reacted at once. He leaned toward the small table and poured her a glass of Firewhisky.

—Have it. It’ll help —he said softly.

Tonks accepted the glass with a small nod of thanks and took a slow sip.

—Don’t worry too much, Tonks —he added, offering a faint smile and a lighter tone, though a shadow of concern lingered in his eyes—. You know how Remus is. He always comes back in one piece. More or less.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was dense, heavy with thoughts neither of them voiced aloud.

Outside, the wind whistled softly, keeping time with their reflections.

Sirius, chin resting on one hand, watched Tonks out of the corner of his eye. There was something in the way she stared out the window —a vulnerability she couldn’t quite conceal— that made him think.

Remus was a lucky idiot.

What man in his right mind could have someone like Tonks worrying about him and not return the feeling?

A faint smile, barely perceptible, curved his lips. After a few seconds, he decided the silence had lasted long enough. He shifted in his chair and caught his cousin’s gaze.

—You know… there’s something you could do…

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The full moon, hidden behind dense clouds, was surrendering its reign to the first timid glimmers of dawn filtering through the sitting room windows.

Lupin was alone, reclined in an armchair before the fireplace and wrapped in his thickest cloak, though it offered little comfort against the exhaustion seeping into his bones.

His body, aching and heavy, felt like that of someone recovering from a long and merciless illness. It was the price of every transformation.

On the table before him rested an empty glass with viscous remnants clinging to its sides, reflecting the faint firelight. Lupin glanced at it with distaste before looking away.

Snape’s Wolfsbane Potion usually managed —most of the time, rather well— to control both the murderous instinct and the aftermath of the full moon. At best, it allowed him to retain his mind, even if he transformed partially or fully. On rare occasions, it even dulled the pain and fatigue. But not this time.

Not with the moon so close to the Earth. He had sensed it already, when his instincts had flared so violently halfway through the cycle.

He exhaled sharply and turned toward the fireplace.

Every month, the same ritual: the moon, the potion, and the inevitable transformation. Every month, he asked Sirius to lock him in the basement, despite his friend’s grumbling insistence that it wasn’t necessary. But Remus would not be persuaded. His stubbornness always won.

In the end, Sirius would give in with a mixture of resignation and worry, and the basement door would close on another long night of isolation. Remus would not come out until Sirius swore —and swore again— that the moon was no longer visible in the sky.

Only then would he venture upstairs, always cautious, avoiding the windows. And afterward, he would collapse onto the sofa near the fire Sirius had kept burning for him.

He adjusted the cushions and tried to wrap himself more tightly before closing his eyes. The warmth of the fire and the weight of exhaustion drew him into a light sleep —a brief but necessary truce after the battle that was his existence every full moon.

A few hours later, he woke trembling.

The fire had dwindled to a handful of embers that barely gave off any heat. Curled in the armchair, Lupin found no relief in the fading warmth nor in the coarse fabric of the cloak that had once been soft.

He shifted with effort, squinting as a ray of sunlight slipped through the curtains and struck his face. Despite his attempts, his body refused to straighten fully. He remained hunched, bearing the heaviness each transformation left behind.

As he sat there, hands resting on his knees, gaze unfocused, a recurring thought began to echo in his mind: Tonks.

For days, he had made a conscious effort to avoid her, aware of the effect she had on his body —and his instincts.

At first, he had tried to behave normally. But each time his eyes met hers, the wolf’s hunger struck him with such force that he felt ashamed even admitting it to himself.

Pulling away had been necessary: putting distance between them until the full moon passed and his body belonged to him again. It was the only way to protect himself from her —or to protect her from him.

And now, though he could still feel the warm breath of the wolf lingering within him, the lunar cycle had finally ended.

At last, everything would return to normal.

A soft knock at the door made him turn, but before he could answer, the very subject of his thoughts had already slipped into the sitting room.

Her usual smile was there, though her slightly furrowed brow betrayed a hint of concern. Lupin felt his heart lurch traitorously.

—Good morning! —she greeted cheerfully.

He shifted, uneasy.

—Tonks… —he murmured, attempting to sit up, awkward and stiff—. You shouldn’t see me like this.

The wolf, he thought in alarm. The wolf is still with me.

—Why not? Are you still dangerous? —she asked, deliberately ignoring his warning.

As she stepped closer, she stumbled slightly. The charged tension in the room cracked, and Lupin, despite himself, smiled. It was impossible not to.

—This rug is conspiring against me —Tonks joked, glaring at the floor in mock indignation before looking up and gifting him another grin. As though nothing in the world could unsettle her day.

Without waiting for an invitation, she dropped into a nearby armchair with the easy, effortless confidence that always accompanied her.

Lupin lifted his gaze to her. Tonks was wearing black stockings threaded with tiny shimmering flecks, a worn skirt that gave her a youthful air, and a silver jumper with a design in the centre he couldn’t quite make out. The muted light filtering through the curtains caught in her pink hair —always unruly, rebellious— and made it gleam.

She looked beautiful. And she was smiling at him.

He silently thanked whatever mercy existed that his inner wolf was finally asleep. Even so, he kept his hands clenched tightly around the armrests, as though that might restrain the beast if it stirred.

He swallowed and, almost without noticing, ran a hand through his hair and beard, suddenly self-conscious.

What impression must he be giving? There he was, sprawled in an armchair with his oldest cloak serving as a blanket, dressed in worn house clothes and more dishevelled than ever. A far cry from the effortless, disordered elegance Tonks carried so naturally.

But she didn’t seem to mind.

She was watching him with quiet attentiveness, with that honest concern that cannot be feigned.

—How are you feeling? —she asked softly.

Lupin exhaled and shrugged. Tonks’ gaze drifted toward the glass on the table.

—What’s that?

—Wolfsbane Potion —he replied.

—Wolfsbane Potion? —she repeated, leaning forward with curiosity.

Lupin nodded slowly. He was still gripping the armrest, not entirely trusting himself.

—It was developed a few years ago. It lessens the effects of the full moon.

Tonks frowned… and then her eyes widened.

—But that’s brilliant, isn’t it?

One look at his face was enough to tell her it wasn’t.

If it were, he wouldn’t look so gaunt. He wouldn’t have those dark circles beneath his eyes. He wouldn’t be wrapped in his cloak as though he were still cold.

Her expression shifted at once.

How easy it is to say foolish things when you want everything to turn out well, she thought, embarrassed.

Lupin lowered his gaze. For a moment, his features hardened.

Tonks pressed her lips together.

—I’m sorry. I got carried away…

He shook his head gently and managed a tired smile.

—It’s all right. It’s easy to think a potion fixes everything… but it isn’t that simple.

—The potion helps, but it doesn’t make me immune —Lupin explained, eyes fixed on the glass—. It controls the transformation, yes. And it eases the pain. In theory. But it doesn’t always work that way.

Tonks tilted her head slightly, listening without interrupting.

—It’s a complicated brew. Highly unstable. Its effects are… unpredictable. And every lunar cycle is different. The moon shifts —its position, its intensity. Sometimes it works very well: it restrains the wolf, softens the physical aftermath.

—But when it fails… —he paused, searching for words— it leaves me as though I’ve endured a savage fever. Drained. As if my body had fought an endless battle. And the closer the moon is to the Earth, the worse it gets.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, uneasy, and closed his eyes briefly as memories stirred.

The last time he had stood close to her.
The way the wolf had surged awake in fury.
The hunger.
The fear.

Tonks watched him in silence, unsure what to say. So she said nothing.

Instead, she reached out and gently placed her hand over his, still tense against the armrest.

—That must be exhausting… —she murmured.

There was no condescension in her voice. Only understanding.

Lupin glanced sideways at her without moving.

Waiting. Fearing that dark lash he already knew.
That ferocity that had forced him to pull away from her.

But it did not come.

On the contrary.

There was no trace of the wolf’s frenzy. Only comfort.

The touch was warm. Human.

Nothing like the heat of the fire or the scratch of his worn cloak.

She felt it too. Her fingers shifted softly and intertwined with his, not gripping, but offering —a silent gesture of support and affection.

He lifted his eyes and met hers. Surprise flickered across his face. He had spent the night locked away, afraid of the monster inside him. And now she was there. Unafraid. As though she did not see the wolf at all. As though she still saw the man.

Something inside him loosened.

But the discomfort returned just as quickly. He withdrew his hand, as if still unsure whether he was allowed such a gesture. Or unsure how to bear it.

—It is… —he admitted—. But there are days like this when a conversation helps more than you can imagine.

Tonks offered him a faint smile —different, softer, yet just as close.

—Then I’ll keep stopping by to make sure you don’t run out of them.

There was a shy note in her voice, unusual for her. Lupin let out a quiet laugh.

—You’re more persistent than you look —he murmured, leaning ever so slightly toward her, a hint of humour returning.

—And you’re more difficult than you seem —she replied lightly, though a spark danced in her eyes.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

He didn’t need to.

Something in the air had shifted, slowly dissolving the darkness that had wrapped around him barely half an hour before.

He couldn’t deny it: he felt better with her there.

Tonks had that strange —almost magical— ability to make everything feel lighter. As though problems could wait a little longer.

The silence that settled between them was not awkward, but serene —like a shared breath.

—Where do you get the potion? —Tonks asked at last, glancing again at the empty glass.

—Severus brews it for me.

His voice grew guarded, as if he had no wish to elaborate. Tonks caught the nuance and shrugged lightly.

—Who doesn’t have a story of resentment or rage involving Severus Snape, honestly? —she quipped, settling more comfortably into her chair.

Lupin raised an eyebrow, intrigued, though a small smile tugged at his lips. Tonks, unstoppable, continued.

—I was dreadful at Potions —she said with mock solemnity—. Once… I mistook powdered bicorn horn for sugar. Sugar! I nearly blew up the classroom. And another time… I almost set my tie on fire. With the cauldron flame! I’ve no idea how I managed it, but I did… Though I’m still not sure how the tie survived.

Lupin let out a laugh —unexpected, genuine, so full of life that it seemed to surprise even him, colour returning faintly to his cheeks.

—I’m surprised he didn’t expel you —he said, still smiling.

—Not for lack of desire —Tonks replied, rolling her eyes in exaggerated wounded pride.

Remus shifted carefully in the cushioned armchair. Though he felt better, he couldn’t ignore the obvious: every joint throbbed with a dull ache, his muscles protested at the slightest movement, and fatigue still weighed on him like stone.

Then, as though remembering something, Tonks began rummaging through her bag until she produced a chocolate bar wrapped in shining paper, holding it up triumphantly.

—I remembered this helps you recover —she said, offering it as though it were treasure.

Lupin took the chocolate.

—Thank you.

He unwrapped it carefully and broke off a square with an almost ritual gesture. He offered a piece to Tonks before bringing his own to his mouth. The sweetness spread slowly —his oldest, most faithful ally on days like this. More reliable, perhaps, than any potion Snape could brew.

—Better? —she asked softly.

Lupin inclined his head slightly, and almost without realising it, a small smile curved his lips.

—It always helps —he admitted.

Tonks watched him with satisfaction, but suddenly her eyes lit with mischief.

Without warning, she plunged her hand back into her bag and began producing more chocolate. First another bar. Then another. And another. And then the rest of Honeydukes’ entire stock: gold-wrapped bonbons, Chocolate Frogs leaping into her lap, mint bars, white chocolate with pistachio, chocolate with cream and strawberry, caramel and sea salt…

Until a veritable avalanche of sweets covered the table before them.

Remus raised his eyebrows, stunned.

—How on earth…?

She burst out laughing.

—I may have overdone it a bit.

At that moment, Sirius appeared in the doorway with his characteristic crooked grin —but stopped short at the sight before him.

Tonks clutching her stomach, laughing helplessly amid a mountain of chocolate. Remus wrapped in his cloak, pale and dishevelled, wearing an expression of utter bewilderment.

—What in Merlin’s name happened here? —he exclaimed, lifting an eyebrow as he approached—. Tonks! I asked you to bring one bar of chocolate. One!

She shot him an innocent look, though her eyes sparkled with mischief.

—You didn’t specify which one —she replied cheekily, winking at Remus.

Sirius shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

He dropped into a seat beside them with theatrical exasperation and glanced sideways at his friend. He half expected to find that reproachful look for having allowed Tonks upstairs —but there was none. Remus did not look annoyed. In fact, Sirius would have sworn that, for the first time in days, he looked… calm. Content. Smiling.

With a flick of his wand, he stirred the embers in the fireplace back to life. Then he picked up a chocolate bar and snapped it in two.

—Well, since we’re here, we might as well try them all, shouldn’t we? Though with this much chocolate, Remus, you’re going to put on weight —he added in a scolding tone that fooled absolutely no one—. At this rate, next full moon you’ll turn into a pig instead of a wolf.

Remus shot him a look of feigned indignation.

—I couldn’t. Pigs are far too cheerful for my personality.

But even he couldn’t suppress his laughter when Sirius clapped him on the shoulder.

What followed was an unexpectedly pleasant afternoon.

Between jokes and heated debates about which chocolate reigned supreme, Lupin’s convalescence grew lighter. He even ended up doubled over in laughter when Sirius attempted to bite into a Chocolate Frog and it sprang straight into his face.

For a while, Remus managed to forget the weight pressing down on him.

The pain of the transformation felt more distant, and the echo of the beast within him quieter. Their company made him feel less sombre, less ill, more human… less wolf. And far happier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tonks. Her smile lit the room, and her eyes shone with life as she bantered with Sirius. Something in her laughter thawed the cold that had settled deep in his bones.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this. But he did remember the days when the morning after a full moon had been just as bearable: when James and Sirius would sneak into the kitchen to bring him hot chocolate, when Peter would cover for him in class if he was too exhausted, when Lily would look at him with a stern frown and insist he stay in bed until the dizziness passed.

His gaze drifted back to Tonks without meaning to, as though drawn by instinct. She caught him mid-glance and turned toward him with a mischievous smile, her eyes glinting playfully.

—What? —she asked, amused.

—Nothing —Lupin replied quickly, though this time he didn’t bother hiding the smile that had slipped free.

A real smile.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Well, that’s all for today. I hope you enjoyed it. This is one of my favourite chapters 😀

The scene in which Tonks places her hand over Remus’s is deliberately written as a mirror to the one we saw a few chapters ago, which went like this:

“—A waste of time? —she repeated, and then placed her hand over his in a natural gesture meant to offer comfort. Yet the moment her fingers brushed his skin, Remus felt once again that uncomfortable lash surging through his blood with overwhelming force. His body reacted instantly, and he had to summon all his willpower to keep that agitation from showing on his face.”

Today we see the same gesture, the same intention of comfort —but a completely different reaction. Then, it was an uncomfortable lash: instinct, carnal, animal. Here, at last, it is calm, presence, and a wordless it’s all right. And perhaps also a small I care about you 😛

As you know, I love building “mirror scenes” that quietly speak to each other. Let’s see if you can spot the others as the story unfolds.

And finally, I’m so happy to share one of my favourite scenes in the whole book: Tonks appearing during Lupin’s convalescence and the legendary mountain of chocolate. I had been looking forward to writing this moment for so long. I hope it made you smile as much as it made me smile while writing it.

If you enjoyed the chapter, any interaction — a like, a comment, sharing it — means a great deal. It supports me more than you might think and keeps me motivated to continue writing.

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