Chapter 4

¡EN GARDE!

Sparks of spells lit up the training room as the Auror rolled across the floor, dodging Kingsley’s latest attack. The echo of curses slamming against the walls lingered in the air.

“En garde, Tonks!” Kingsley bellowed, launching another quick spell.

She barely had time to raise her wand and cast the magical barrier they’d been practicing for over a month.
A bluish glow surrounded her at the last second, absorbing the explosion and dissolving it into crackling waves of energy that fizzled out into the air.

Kingsley lowered his wand and crossed his arms, softening his expression.

“Not bad.”

Tonks, breathless, collapsed to the floor with a loud huff.

-I need a minute… or five,” she muttered, panting.

Kingsley approached silently, handed her a bottle of water, then sat beside her.

The Auror, with his unrelenting discipline, never gave her a break.

The sessions offered no mercy: they were long, tough, and pushed her to her limits.

Tonks ended up exhausted, yes… but also deeply satisfied, knowing Kingsley had forced her to give her best. She always learned something new, refined her reflexes, or mastered some complex spell.

After a few minutes, Kingsley broke the silence.

“You’ve improved.”

She took a long sip before replying with a half-smile.

“You’re not giving me much choice.”

Kingsley let out a short laugh.

“That’s because there’s still a lot I can squeeze out of you. Speaking of which… we’ll soon be tightening up on Occlumency and Legilimency.”

Tonks immediately made a face. Those subjects were clearly her weak point.

“Can we pretend you didn’t say that?”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow.

“If not, I’ll give you more paperwork.”

The Auror let herself fall back with an exasperated groan.

“Merlin, no. I’ve already got a mountain piling up. Why doesn’t anyone warn you about that when you decide to become an Auror?”

Kingsley nodded with mock gravity.

“An unsolved mystery.” He checked his watch. “Actually, before I leave, I should finish some reports for Lupin.”

Tonks pulled a sour expression that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Something you want to share?” he asked casually.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, looking away and taking another sip of water.

Kingsley smiled knowingly.

“You don’t like him?”

She shrugged, thinking of her few interactions with Lupin. Whenever they crossed paths, he basically ignored her. He had shown zero interest in getting to know her, let alone being friendly.

“Just like Dawlish,” she thought with a pang of resentment.

“Don’t worry, it’s just how he is,’’ said Kingsley reassuringly, as if reading her mind.

“I’m not worried,” she replied quickly, a slight edge to her voice.

Kingsley chuckled and gave her a knowing look.

“Either way, I promise he won’t be your new Dawlish.”

Tonks let out a laugh.

“We’ll see about that…” she muttered with a playful smile, glancing sideways at Kingsley.

He held her gaze for a second before rising with fluid motion. Suddenly, he held out his hand.

“Come on. En garde!” he said challengingly, pointing his wand at her.

Tonks snorted, but accepted without hesitation. She leapt to her feet and took up her dueling position.

In the blink of an eye, the room lit up again with spellfire.

Kingsley attacked with calculated precision, while she moved swiftly, blocking most of his strikes.

A smile escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Her career was much more than paperwork, training, and stern superiors. Graduating as an Auror and joining Moody’s team was a badge of honour she wore with pride—a testament that joy, personal flair, and professionalism weren’t mutually exclusive.

She had proven that her bright, rebellious hair, her taste for mixing Muggle clothes with witch’s robes, her maddening—but somehow endearing—clumsiness, and her relaxed attitude didn’t make her any less competent.

She was capable, dedicated, and had enough grit to carve her place in a world where respect was too often based on reputation rather than true talent.

Perhaps that’s why dismissive attitudes bothered her so much. She couldn’t stand people who looked down on others. And in her mind, Remus Lupin—with his distant silence, evasive gaze, and guarded nature—fit perfectly into that category.

She raised her wand just in time to sweep it through the air, successfully deflecting Kingsley’s final spell. He nodded in approval and lowered his wand, calling the session to an end.

Tonks barely managed to stay on her feet for a few more seconds before collapsing to the floor again—dramatically, exhausted… but satisfied.

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

The break room used to be just that: a break.

A space where Aurors shared late breakfasts, dry jokes, and comfortable silences—far from the constant pressure of fieldwork.

That day, Tonks was sitting quietly on a couch, cup of tea in hand, watching her fellow trainees without saying a word.

Booth was everything one would expect from a brilliant former Ravenclaw: tall, slim, square-rimmed glasses, sharp mind, angular features—and also, a bit eccentric.

Among his Auror duties, he had taken it upon himself—more out of enthusiasm than obligation—to catalogue the magical artifacts seized from traffickers, examine them, and keep detailed records. Once, they let him keep a rather curious object, which he now wore around his neck like an amulet. It resembled a small silver spinning top and, according to him, helped him focus—and, incidentally, control gravity in the Ministry’s faulty lifts.

Dawsey, on the other hand, had a more compact, muscular build and a more outgoing personality.
He had trained at Beauxbatons and still carried that courteous—if slightly smug—aura typical of the French academy, though without losing his cheeky charm. A huge sports enthusiast, he was a devoted fan of the Limoges Eagles and still trained now and then with former Quidditch teammates.

He took his job very seriously, with the kind of commitment only found in those who truly believe in the team.

Booth, standing by the window, turned a page of the Daily Prophet with an exasperated gesture.

-Listen to this,” he said before reading aloud:

Daily Prophet Headline: CONSPIRACY AT HOGWARTS? DUMBLEDORE AND HIS “CHAMPION” DEFY THE MINISTRY

Article:
“For years now, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, has accumulated an alarming level of influence within the wizarding world. However, recent events have brought to light his possible involvement in a dangerous conspiracy aimed at destabilizing the Ministry of Magic.
The tragic outcome of the Triwizard Tournament, in which Cedric Diggory lost his life, has cast serious doubts on the version of events that Dumbledore and his protégé, Harry Potter, have tried to impose. Sources close to the Ministry claim that Potter, far from being a mere witness, may have been involved in the fatal incident.
But the most unsettling question remains: just how far does Dumbledore’s influence reach? According to reports obtained by the Daily Prophet, the Headmaster has held private meetings with key figures in the magical community, some of them with clear political interests. Could he be pulling strings in an attempt to take control of the Ministry?
Moreover, recent developments within Hogwarts have raised alarms among several Ministry officials. Rumour has it the school is no longer just an educational institution, but the core of an intelligence network operating under Dumbledore’s orders. Is the Headmaster turning Hogwarts into a stronghold for his cause?
The Ministry of Magic has already taken steps and, according to our sources, is preparing measures to ensure the stability and security of the wizarding community. Meanwhile, the question remains: is Albus Dumbledore truly the defender of the magical world… or its greatest threat?”

Dawsey let out an incredulous laugh as he spread butter on a slice of bread.

“Hogwarts, a stronghold? What’s next? That the house-elves are plotting a coup?”

A brief silence followed, broken by a low humming sound.

“Hey, Booth,” said Dawsey through a mouthful, “your head’s vibrating.”

“It’s not my head,” Booth replied, hiding something beneath his robes. “It’s the amulet. And it’s vibrating because someone keeps spouting nonsense.”

Dawsey started humming a tune about an elfish rebellion until Booth, fed up, dropped the newspaper on the table.

“It’s not funny. People believe this crap. Clearly the Ministry is meddling.”

Dawsey took another bite and shrugged.

“The Ministry just doesn’t want people to panic.”

“And how do they do that?” Booth asked, pointing at the Prophet. “By lying.”

He looked out the window before adding:

“People are talking… weird things are happening.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow and gently blew on her tea before replying with a casual air:

“There are always weird things happening, Booth. The difference is who decides to notice.”

Booth didn’t reply right away. He just exhaled in frustration before continuing.

“Dawlish has all the Aurors under him working on a string of disappearances and Muggle attacks.”

His tone was serious, and his expression, grim.

“They suspect Death Eaters. Since the Quidditch World Cup, things haven’t been the same.”

Dawsey licked butter off his finger and huffed.

“That was a disaster. And a party for them. What did people expect? That they’d just vanish after all that chaos?

If I were them, I’d use the fear to my advantage.”

He tore into his roll and gestured toward the newspaper.

“Exactly,” Booth said. “I think that’s what they’re doing. The Department of Magical Security is overwhelmed with alerts. Threats here, disappearances there… The Ministry’s covering up as much as they can, but the truth is, the tension’s rising.”

Tonks, her gaze lost on the horizon, murmured,

“Yeah… sounds bad.”

Her comment was superficial, but she didn’t want to say too much. Booth glanced at her briefly, as if trying to read between the lines, but let it go.

“And on top of it all, the Tournament and Potter…” he added, lowering his voice. “The kid came back from the maze with a corpse and started shouting that You-Know-Who had returned, didn’t he?”

“What if he just… snapped in there?” Dawsey suggested with his mouth full. “Not saying he’s lying on purpose, but he’s just a kid. Maybe he couldn’t handle it.”

“And Diggory?” Booth asked, incredulous. “Did he just drop dead on his own?”

Dawsey bit his lip, thoughtful.

“Maybe Potter panicked, tried to defend himself… and everything went wrong.”

He fell silent for a moment and turned to his two companions.

“Do you believe it?” he asked in a whisper, glancing around in case anyone was listening. “That… he’s back?”

Tonks didn’t answer. She just shrugged. Booth didn’t hesitate.

“If Dumbledore believes him, then so do I,” the Auror said firmly, crossing his arms. “Besides, it’s Harry Potter. Why would he lie about something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Dawsey admitted. “Dumbledore is brilliant, but lately he sees conspiracies everywhere.”

“Or maybe he’s the only one who sees what’s really going on.”

His words hung in the air.

Dawsey finished his sandwich while gazing at the street outside the window.

Booth scratched his neck, not keen on having the same argument again. He clutched the amulet tightly in his other hand.

Tonks finished her tea, letting the conversation settle. She looked at her two friends: Booth, the believer; Dawsey, the sceptic. They essentially embodied the two opposing views.

Knowing what people thought about what had happened just weeks ago was important. Very important.

And knowing where she stood—and why—was even more so.

She lowered her gaze to the empty cup in her hands, reflecting quietly, without saying a word.

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

That very afternoon, the kitchen at Grimmauld Place was heavy with tension.

The members of the Order had gathered urgently after the article that had stirred up the entire wizarding world. Sirius stood by the fireplace, face grim and hands clenched at his sides. He looked deeply affected.

“This is madness,” he said, throwing the newspaper onto the table with a frustrated gesture. “The lies they’re spreading are disgusting. They’re accusing Dumbledore of trying to take over the Ministry—and worst of all, they’re blaming Harry for what happened with Cedric.”

Tonks looked up at Sirius’s words. There was something in his tone that caught her attention. It wasn’t just the usual anger at the Ministry’s injustice, but a much deeper concern.

“What really matters is what happened that damned night, in the graveyard.”

From his corner, Moody had straightened, eyes fixed on the fire.

Tonks turned toward him. She didn’t know the full story. Before she could ask, Moody turned both eyes—normal and magical—toward her.

“It’s time you heard the facts, Tonks. No one in the Order can afford not to know.”

Intrigued, she stepped closer to the table, with her eyes locked on the veteran Auror. At last, she would hear the full truth.

Moody took a deep breath and began to recount the events with firm clarity, like a military report.

“Potter, Diggory, and the others were participating in the Triwizard Tournament. But what no one knew was that it had been tampered with from the start. When Potter touched the Triwizard Cup along with Diggory…”

He paused. The air grew heavy.
“…they were transported to a graveyard. And there, Voldemort was waiting.”

Sirius tilted his head, as if trying to hold back something he didn’t want to show. Molly stared at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

“Wormtail,” Moody continued. “A traitor—he orchestrated the whole thing.”

Tonks raised an eyebrow. Wormtail?, she thought, but bit her tongue, knowing she shouldn’t interrupt. As if reading her thoughts, Moody added:

“A man who, along with other Death Eaters, had been serving Voldemort. Someone we once believed an ally. Then we thought him dead… but no. Far from it.”

Sirius clenched his jaw tightly. His fists were balled on his knees. Lupin had turned to face the fireplace, thoughtful. Tonks felt again that sense of something personal hiding just beneath the surface—something she didn’t know, but was clearly there, between the lines.

Moody grimaced before continuing.

“Then it happened.”

He sought Tonks’s gaze.

-Wormtail prepared a potion. Bone, blood, flesh. And with it, he brought Voldemort back. It was a dark ritual. And Potter witnessed the whole thing.”

“The boy, of course, couldn’t just stay there,” he added, almost admiringly. “He fought. Somehow, he managed to escape… against all odds. And so he returned—with Diggory’s body and the Triwizard Cup.”

His account ended there.

A tense silence followed, as if the weight of the story pressed down on everyone’s shoulders.

Tonks didn’t move.
She knew Voldemort had returned; Moody had told her just weeks before.
But hearing it told like this, in such stark terms… was different.
Now it wasn’t a rumour.
It wasn’t a report.
It wasn’t a half-finished conversation with Dawsey and Booth.

Now it was real.

Tonks barely remembered anything from the First Wizarding War—she had been a child.
She hadn’t lived through it. Her parents hadn’t been part of the Order, though they had always stayed loyal to Dumbledore.
Everything she knew about Voldemort came from reports, from names, from other people’s scars.

When Moody told her Voldemort was back, she believed him.
She didn’t ask for proof. She didn’t demand explanations. In fact, she even surprised herself, realizing she hadn’t doubted for a second.

She had stepped forward when others denied, looked away, or remained silent. Because she trusted.
In Moody, just as she trusted in Dumbledore.

Maybe she was naive.
Maybe those two veterans had seen so much horror that their minds had dimmed.
Maybe she had joined a paranoid bunch predicting the downfall of the magical world based on the word of a poor, tormented orphan—someone the world had treated far too cruelly.

Yes, maybe she’d been persuaded.
She could be wrong. She could have been misled.
But she had no doubt where she stood.

Because she had always known how to tell right from wrong, even as a child.
Because injustice always burned on her skin like fire.
Because she had never been able to stand places where bloodlines or last names were valued over effort.

Fame.
Purity.
The repression of half-bloods.
The disdain for Muggles.

Those ideas were everything Tonks despised.
And Voldemort embodied them all.
And not just him.

She didn’t care if the enemy’s name was Voldemort, the Death Eaters, institutional rigidity, Dawlish, or Rookwood.
They all shared the same way of thinking.
And she wasn’t going to bow her head and live in a world like that.

Not without putting up a fight.

That’s why she was here.
Because she was an idealist.
Because she believed in a better world.
Because she had chosen to fight for the very freedom that allowed her to be who she was.

Happy. Passionate. And alive.

So yes, to the question—how did I end up here, in a gloomy kitchen, at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, surrounded by seasoned fighters with scars and solid reasons to keep going—the answer was clear, firm, and without the slightest doubt:

This is exactly where I belong.

Moody broke the silence. His eyes, always steady, dropped briefly to the floor.

“It was my fault,” he said, the harshness in his voice clearly directed at himself. “Barty Crouch… he shouldn’t have fooled me.”

His jaw tensed. He didn’t clench his fists, didn’t raise his voice. But something in his expression had shifted.

“My sensors… how did I not notice Barty Crouch Junior was on the loose? If I’d been more alert, if I’d caught the signs… I didn’t see it coming!”

Silence fell over the room, heavier than before. All eyes were on the old Auror, but no one knew what to say. In his mind, Moody was reliving the moment: the instant Barty Crouch Junior infiltrated the school by impersonating him, manipulating everything to bring Voldemort back to life.

“Alastor,” Kingsley said at last, his voice calm and steady, “no one knew Barty Crouch Junior was still alive. No one knew he was so close to Voldemort. You couldn’t have predicted it. It wasn’t your fault.”

He placed a firm hand on his mentor’s shoulder. Moody raised his head slowly, meeting Kingsley’s gaze with a bitter but grateful look — as if his words couldn’t erase the guilt, but offered some kind of solace.

Tonks watched them, heart heavy. She had never seen Mad-Eye so defeated.

He — the Auror. With his magical eye, his scars, his prosthetic leg. Always so strong, so unshakable. She didn’t know what to say or do.

“Moody…” she whispered, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

But on the way, without realizing, her elbow knocked over a jug of water resting on the table.

The jug hit the floor with a crash, not before spilling water all over a book that Lupin had beside him.

He looked up, clearly exasperated.

“Tonks, seriously? Are you going to break everything you touch?”

“I’m sorry, Remus, I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but his tone was still sharp, that passive-aggressive tone that reminded her too much of

Dawlish. “Just try not to destroy anything else, alright?”

Embarrassed, Tonks reached for her wand to dry it, but Molly beat her to it with a graceful flick.

“Don’t worry, dear. This can be fixed.”

Tonks gave her a thankful smile. But when she glanced back at Remus, he had already turned away, clutching the book to his chest like he was shielding it from further harm.

Tonks frowned, irritated. She couldn’t help but feel the scolding had been a bit much.

Still, before she could say anything, Kingsley spoke again.

The tension settled back into the room — and everyone seemed to remember what really mattered.

The looming threat ahead.

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

Tonks’s irritation with Remus Lupin only grew as the week went on.
Every time she stopped by the Order’s headquarters, he either ignored her or disappeared upstairs without so much as a glance. Still, she tried not to take it personally.

Not everyone was open right away — maybe he was just one of those reserved people who needed time. There were plenty of reasons someone might act distant.

But what truly pushed her over the edge happened one Friday afternoon.

As she was gathering her things at the office after her shift, Moody intercepted her with his usual grumble.

“Take this to Lupin,” he growled, handing her a small bundle of parchments tied with a leather cord. “He’ll be at headquarters going over reports.”

Tonks groaned, exhausted. She was dying to go home and disconnect. It had been a brutally long week, and outside, the sky was unleashing the worst downpour of the summer. Of all the people she could possibly want to run into that evening, Remus Lupin was dead last.

“Why don’t you take them yourself?” she asked with a cheeky smile.
“Because I’ve got better things to do,” Moody snapped. “Want me to assign you a night shift in Azkaban to keep you entertained?”

Tonks shook her head and grabbed the papers.

“Alright, alright. I’ll do it. But only because I’d rather not end up in a cell. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let me out of there.”

Moody cleared his throat — possibly his version of a laugh — and took his leave.

Tonks arrived at Grimmauld Place soaked to the bone, the summer rain in London coming down in merciless sheets. Raindrops dripped from her messy hair as she peeled off her wet cloak with a sigh.
“This is the moon’s fault,” she muttered to herself, annoyed.

“Oh, Tonks, dear!” Molly Weasley exclaimed as soon as she saw her. “Just look at you! Come sit by the fire. Here, take this clean towel. Give me a moment, I’ll fix you a nice hot cup of tea.”

Tonks gave her a tired smile and accepted the towel, which smelled faintly of lavender and freshly laundered clothes. She dried her face and hands slowly, savoring the warmth of the fabric against her cold skin.
Then she draped her dripping cloak over the back of a chair and settled down near the fireplace, where the flames crackled gently in the hearth. The warmth of the fire and the aromatic steam made her exhale a soft sigh of relief. Molly, ever the nurturing presence, handed her a bowl of homemade biscuits.

“Rough day?” she asked as she returned to the kitchen to resume her chores. “Need anything, dear?”

“Oh, no, all good,” Tonks replied, straightening a little in her seat and grabbing a biscuit. “I just came to drop off some reports for Lupin.”

She placed the scroll on the table, grateful the rain hadn’t ruined them. She didn’t even want to imagine how that man would react if she damaged another one of his belongings with water. Molly glanced toward the window.

“He’s not back yet.”

She said it casually, but Tonks caught a faint note of worry in her voice.

“I don’t think he’ll be long, though.”

It wasn’t just her tone. Molly kept her hands busy tidying things in the kitchen that didn’t really need tidying, but her eyes would occasionally drift toward the window, as if hoping to catch sight of something beyond the curtain of rain.

Tonks followed her gaze. Outside, the rain pounded hard against the glass, darkening the street even before nightfall. Sensing her curiosity, Molly tried to redirect the conversation with a lighter tone:

“The kids are beyond excited. They’ve nearly finished packing to move in. Ginny keeps going on about how she’s going to decorate her room, and the twins… well, the twins are always up to something. Merlin knows what sort of ‘surprises’ they’ll be bringing with them. You’ll see soon enough.”

Tonks smiled and let Molly ramble about her children, noting the pride in her voice.

However, the conversation was cut short when the door opened, letting in a gust of cold, damp air.
Remus Lupin appeared on the threshold, walking with the weary gait of someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hair, always untidy, was even more disheveled than usual, and the shadows under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights.

He greeted them with a faint nod and went straight to the teapot without saying a word.

“Remus, would you like something to eat? I can make you some soup,” Molly offered kindly, though Tonks noticed the subtle unease in her expression.

“No, thank you, Molly. Tea will do,” he replied without lifting his gaze.

Tonks watched him in silence as he poured himself a cup and remained standing there, fingers curled around the warm ceramic. His eyes were distant, as if his mind were far from that firelit kitchen.

For a moment, Tonks thought he might be looking out the window, just as Molly had done earlier. The rain was still coming down in steady sheets, but a last sliver of sunlight broke through the clouds. Was that what they were both staring at?

Remus leaned against a corner of the kitchen, quietly sipping his tea. He made no effort to join the conversation, not even a passing comment about the storm or Molly’s children, whom she was still talking about enthusiastically.

“Ron’s a case… he’s more concerned about keeping his Quidditch gear in perfect shape than about the mountain of homework piling up.”

Tonks noticed Lupin’s hands trembling slightly as he held the cup. He looked up, and for a moment, their eyes met. She felt a twinge of discomfort at the unreadable expression in his face and quickly looked away, pretending she hadn’t been watching him.

“And Hermione…” Molly went on. “Well, that girl is always so organized. Sometimes I wonder if Ginny’s picked up anything from her. She should! But you know how young people are.”

Tonks was listening without really hearing. Her attention remained on Lupin, waiting… for something. A gesture, a reaction — anything to show a shred of cordiality. But he only took a few more sips, set his cup down on the counter, and left as quietly as he had arrived.

Tonks felt a stab of irritation rise in her chest.

“Seriously? That’s it?” she thought, pressing her lips together.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Molly watching him leave as well.

The young Auror sighed and lowered her gaze, wondering what the hell was wrong with that man.

That’s when her eyes landed on the parchments Moody had asked her to deliver. They were still lying on the table — untouched. She had completely forgotten to hand them over.

She stood up so abruptly she knocked her chair over.

“I’ll go give these to him,” she said, with sudden resolve.

“If you like, I can give them to him when he comes back down,” Molly offered, eyeing her curiously.

“Don’t worry,” Tonks replied with a quick smile. “It’s my job, after all. That’s why I came.”

She had the feeling Molly was torn between stopping her and letting her go, but didn’t give her the chance to intervene. She didn’t understand why everyone treated Remus Lupin with such indulgence, as if he were made of glass.

She crossed the threshold and began to climb the stairs with firm steps. Almost firm.

The crackling of the kitchen fire was behind her now.
So was the smell of lavender, the homemade biscuits, and Molly’s motherly care.
The atmosphere changed — heavier, expectant.

She had that feeling again, like the house was watching her.
Not from the paintings, nor from the carved ceilings.
From within. As if it had lungs. As if it breathed.

With every step, she felt the floor pulsing beneath her boots.
This wasn’t a house. It was an old body, bitter and worn. And she was heading into its depths.

She paused a moment and shook her head, as if she could shake off the unease crawling over her skin. She just wanted to deliver the parchments and get out.
She drew a long breath and stepped into the first-floor corridor.

It was shrouded in shadows, save for a warm light spilling from a nearby room.
She inhaled again and moved toward the threshold.

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

Lupin was there.

Alone, standing in the middle of a silent, dusty room, by a tall window.
The waxing moon hovered behind the glass, and its reflection deepened the shadows on his face: the ever-present dark circles under his eyes, the old scars that marked his skin, the premature lines settling into his brow.

He held a glass between his fingers and seemed absorbed, gazing at the street, the clouds, the sky… or something Tonks couldn’t quite see. Or understand.

He didn’t seem to have noticed her presence.

The young Auror stood in the doorway, watching him. There was something about his posture, the stillness with which he stared into the night, the quiet melancholy his silhouette exuded, that took her breath away.
She couldn’t look away.

A sudden pang struck her chest.
Tenderness? She was surprised to think it.
Maybe.
But also frustration — the same frustration she’d carried with her since their first encounter.

Everything was tangled in her mind, without order or logic.

Then, without moving, Lupin broke the silence.

“Do you need something?”

Tonks had heard him speak only a handful of times, but she was certain that wasn’t the voice she remembered.

It was deeper. And something else — rougher. Dull.

When he finally turned to face her, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes studied her with caution, with a flicker of discomfort… and something more. Anger.

Tonks had the distinct feeling that he thought she’d been spying on him.

“Sorry for barging in,” she muttered, suddenly feeling clumsy.

She raised the parchments almost automatically, as if to prove she was only there on official business.

“I brought this for you.”

Lupin placed the glass on a nearby table and walked toward her with slow, measured steps. He reached out and took the parchments without ceremony.

“Thanks.”

Nothing more.
He simply began untying the leather cord that held the papers together.

Tonks pressed her lips together.
She refused to give up so easily in the face of that infuriating apathy.

“Straight from the hands of Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody,” she said with mock solemnity. “He sends his warmest regards.”

He didn’t respond.
He just unrolled the papers and started scanning them in silence.

Tonks crossed her arms.

“You’re not going to tell me what they are?” she asked, trying to peer at them.

“Security reports,” he replied, without looking up.

“Oh, how thrilling!” Tonks exclaimed, feigning excitement. “Do they say the HQ doors will be guarded by trolls with wings? Armed dragons, maybe?”

For a second, he seemed to weigh whether to answer or ignore her altogether. He chose the latter, making it clear the conversation, as far as he was concerned, was over.

Tonks exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the irritation tightening in her chest.

“The whole Weasley family’s moving in this weekend,” she said, trying to break the tension in the air. “I’m sure they’ll liven this place up a bit, don’t you think?”

Silence.
That was the last straw.

“Hey, do you have a problem with me, or are you this charming with everyone?”

Lupin finally looked up, surprised by her tone.

“Don’t take it personally,” he said, in that same neutral voice. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Of course, of course,” Tonks muttered, narrowing her eyes. “Because the rest of us are completely free of thought.”

Lupin frowned.

“I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Tonks gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job of it anyway,” she shot back, turning on her heel and storming out without saying goodbye.

She descended the stairs in stumbling steps, feeling her anger mix with disappointment.
There was no point in trying to be nice.
Lupin wasn’t just distant — he was downright rude.

When she returned to the kitchen, she found Molly by the sink.
The woman looked up. She didn’t say anything, but she gave her that motherly look that asked no questions — but saw everything.

Tonks grabbed her cloak, neatly folded over a chair.
Molly had probably taken the trouble to dry it and fold it while chatting with Lupin.

“Thanks for the tea, Molly,” the Auror said, trying to sound light, though the tension still clung to her jaw.

“Everything alright, dear?”

Tonks hesitated a moment, then shrugged.

“More or less.”

She put on her cloak slowly, fastening the top buttons.

She avoided Molly’s eyes, afraid that if she met her gaze, too many words might slip out.

“See you.”

“Good night,” Molly replied in her usual tone, but she didn’t look away until Tonks had stepped through the door.

For a moment, Molly was left alone, unmoving, the silence broken only by the ticking of the serpent-shaped clock, wondering what on earth had just happened.

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Tonks left headquarters with a furrowed brow, clenched fists, and blood boiling in her veins.

She headed down a quiet alley. Took a deep breath. And without a second thought, Disapparated.

Fresh air and countryside silence replaced the chaos of the city.
No more crowded streets, no traffic, no voices ringing in her ears.
And no Lupin. And his damned indifference.
The irritation slowly faded, swallowed by the calm of the night. And it didn’t come back.

She was standing on a rural path, lit only by the moonlight.
It wasn’t raining there.
In front of her, her parents’ house stood serene and familiar, as if nothing could disturb its peace.

Tonks let out a long sigh, and a relaxed smile crept onto her face.
After such a draining week, nothing could be better than a couple of days at home.
With her people.

Tonks’s family was small.
Her mother, Andromeda, had broken ties with the Black family long before Tonks was born.
Her father, Ted, was an only child, and his parents had passed away when Tonks was still very young.
So, with no grandparents, uncles, or cousins in the picture, it had always been just the three of them.

And yet, Tonks had grown up surrounded by love — a happy childhood filled with unique experiences, thanks to the perfect harmony between her parents: so different, and yet so attuned to each other.

Andromeda, despite the refined and sophisticated upbringing she’d received as a member of a pure-blood family, was a free-thinking, tolerant, and deeply sensible woman.
Ted, in contrast, was a Muggle-born wizard, warm-hearted, easy-going, and full of contagious humour — traits Tonks had inherited in full.
Together, they chose to raise her with the best of both worlds: the magical one — robes, potions, and trips to Diagon Alley hand in hand with her mother — and the Muggle one, with fairs, libraries, and amusement parks, which her father always approached with glee.

Of course, Ted had to make sure she wore a good hat when they were out, because whenever she got too excited, her hair would change colour or shape in an instant — and any Muggle, no matter how oblivious, would definitely notice.

Their home was a reflection of that duality.
It had electricity like any Muggle house, but also a fireplace connected to the Floo Network.
Andromeda cooked with magic, while Ted — a true food enthusiast — had taught his daughter to chop, peel, fry, and bake all kinds of dishes without a wand.
That mix of traditions, so natural to her, defined who she was.

Tonks had always had the freedom to decide how to present herself to the world — and she took full advantage of it.
While Andromeda tried to coax her into wearing tailored witchwear and elegant robes, Tonks preferred Muggle clothes: comfortable, carefree, and full of flair.

She adored Muggle culture — the music, the subcultures — and her wardrobe was a delightful mess of both worlds. She’d pair ripped jeans with her Auror tunic, trainers with her old but beloved Hufflepuff scarf, and carry both her wand and her Tube pass in the same faded backpack.

These combinations often puzzled traditionalists like Dawlish, who scowled at her every time they crossed paths.
But Tonks didn’t care.
To her, being a half-blood wasn’t a subtraction — it was an addition.
Her magical and Muggle heritage fit together perfectly, and she was proud to embody both realities.

That’s why, after graduating as an Auror, she’d moved to London, to a Muggle residential area near the Ministry.
She lived on the top floor of a city building, surrounded by Muggle neighbours who found her peculiar — due to her eccentric outfits and her ever-changing hair.

Though she hardly interacted with them, she enjoyed the anonymity and quiet of that environment.
But she was always grateful to return home.

Tonks stepped through the door — but didn’t need to announce herself.
Her father came to greet her with his wide, cheerful smile and bright blue eyes glowing with affection as he wrapped her in a hug.

“My favourite little Metamorphmagus!” he exclaimed, ruffling her hair.

Ted was a broad-shouldered man with tousled light brown hair and a face lined from years of outdoor work and gardening.
His hands were big and calloused from manual labour, but his embrace had always been the safest place Tonks knew.

From the kitchen, her mother’s voice rang out.

“You’re home late, Nymphadora,” she said in her usual calm tone, though her lips curved into a smile as she approached.

Tonks rolled her eyes but accepted her mother’s hug with a content sigh.

“Mum, could you at least call me Tonks when I come visit?” she groaned, though she didn’t let go.

“I’ll try, dear,” Andromeda replied with the patience of someone who’d had this argument a hundred times.

There was a natural elegance about Andromeda.
Her grey eyes were sharp and piercing, but always held a tenderness reserved for her family.
That day, her hair was a soft chestnut brown — the same shade as her husband’s.
She too was a Metamorphmagus, though she preferred sober tones inspired by plants and forests, while Tonks gravitated toward loud, rebellious colours — which always sparked playful debates between mother and daughter.

She dressed with quiet sophistication, always impeccable, her presence commanding without effort or artifice.

Soon, the three of them settled at the table for dinner and conversation.
Ted spoke animatedly about a new Muggle neighbour who’d asked about the strange behaviour of some of his plants, while Andromeda listened with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused.

“By the way,” she asked, serving her daughter more stew with feigned innocence, “that boy you were dating… what was his name?”

Tonks placed a dramatic hand on her chest and sighed.

“Oh, mother! Don’t mention Ethan. A tragic love story, like Romeo and Juliet. Meant to meet, doomed to part…”

Ted burst into laughter, while Andromeda rolled her eyes in amusement.

“Or maybe,” she replied with a half-smile, “you just got bored and dumped him.”

Tonks sighed theatrically and nodded.

“Fine, yes. He was boring. Handsome, sure, but… too serious. Imagine, Dad — he didn’t laugh at my jokes!”

“Well, that’s an unforgivable crime,” Ted quipped, raising his glass.

The three of them laughed, wrapped in that warm, familiar atmosphere Tonks treasured so deeply.

She let herself relax, forgetting for a moment the weight of the past weeks.

But when her eyes drifted to the window, her mind filled with thoughts far from dinner.
Outside, the night stretched quietly over the fields — but she knew that somewhere in the country, the Order of the Phoenix was on the move, fighting in the shadows against an enemy that grew stronger by the day.

Her gaze settled on her mother, who held a steaming cup of tea, and her father, who was peeling an apple while humming a ridiculous tune.

She wanted to tell them the truth.
That she’d joined the Order of the Phoenix.
That she was doing the right thing, fighting for the values they’d taught her to believe in.
That she’d met Sirius Black. That he was innocent, that he was alive, and despite everything, he was fighting for the same cause.

But she couldn’t.
It was a secret.
A secret she couldn’t share — because doing so would only put them at risk.

Her mother looked at her then, and Tonks had the sudden, unsettling feeling that she already knew.
That beyond her cheerful facade, Andromeda had sensed she was hiding something.

Tonks quickly looked away.
She didn’t want her to know — at least not like this, not without words.

So she said nothing.
She smiled. And forced herself back into the lighthearted chatter.

They kept talking about trivial things: the new recipe Ted had nailed to perfection, the latest novel Andromeda had devoured, and how the witch down the hill had recently discovered that her cat was actually a Kneazle.

And even though the weight of the secret remained, Tonks decided to enjoy the moment.
The peace of her home.
The unconditional love of her family.
At least for the weekend.

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Good morning, everyone!

In this chapter, the heavy atmosphere surrounding the Order of the Phoenix starts to settle in more intensely: media pressure, public manipulation, the constant judgement cast over Harry, over Dumbledore… And while this story has different protagonists, that context remains essential.

As for Tonks, I thought it was important to answer the question I posed in the title of the first chapter:
“Auror Tonks, in the gloomy kitchen with her pink bob, wondering how on earth she ended up at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

The Order of the Phoenix in Book 5, after all, isn’t some brand new invention.
It already existed in the past, and most of the members we know — the Longbottoms, the Prewetts, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Moody, Sirius, Lupin… — were already part of it.
At the end of Book 4, Dumbledore asks Molly if he can count on them again, and she says yes — so I understand that she and Arthur were also involved, at least to some degree.

But not Tonks.
She must have been a child during the First Wizarding War.
So… what on earth is she doing there now, all on her own, surrounded by seasoned veterans?

I guess the simplest answer is that Moody knows her, and trusts her.
But the more interesting question is:
Does she trust them?

I mean… imagine telling Tonks:
“Hey, Tonks. Voldemort’s back, and we’ve set up this illegal underground group to try and stop him. It’s not looking great. You in?”
Of course Tonks would sign up for a suicide mission without blinking.
But I believe she has her own personal reasons — and that’s what this chapter begins to explore.

Also, we finally meet Ted and Andromeda — two characters I adore and who absolutely deserve their place in this story. Not just as parents, but as individuals with their own history — people who deserve far more than just a few lines about their tragic ending.

So we’re going to do them justice.
To them.
And to that girl with the pink mid-haircut who said “yes” to a war she stumbled into.

Thanks for reading!