Chapter 6

To Walburga Black — may she never rest in peace.

The kitchen of Grimmauld Place was crowded.

The large wooden table, scratched by years of use and witness to countless meetings, was surrounded by the silhouettes of the Order of the Phoenix, their shadows dancing to the flicker of the lamps overhead.

Sirius, arms crossed and a half-smile on his lips, murmured a joke to Kingsley, who answered with a small nod and a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Nearby, Molly Weasley poured tea for Arthur with a concentrated expression, as if the simple act of filling the steaming cups might bring some semblance of normality to the meeting.

Hestia Jones and Dedalus Diggle exchanged impressions in a corner, speaking in low voices and with discreet gestures, while Emmeline Vance leafed through a scroll, her brow furrowed.

The conversations gradually faded, giving way to an expectant silence.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Alastor Moody appeared in the doorway, leaning on his staff, his magical eye whirring at an unsettling speed as it scanned every corner of the room before he advanced with his heavy, rhythmic steps.

Tonks followed him with her gaze until he took a seat beside her.

Without preamble, Hestia and Dedalus spoke up.

They explained the difficulties they were facing in convincing other wizards to believe Dumbledore and Harry Potter’s warnings about Voldemort’s return.

There was too much caution, too much fear. Recruiting new members was a challenge in itself: while some had shown sympathy for the cause, most preferred to remain in the middle ground, unwilling to fully commit to the Order.

“We’ve managed to gain five or six new allies,” Dedalus added with a sigh, “but for now, none of them are willing to take part in active operations. Still, it’s a first step. At least we know we’re not alone.”

The remark lingered in the air for a few seconds. It wasn’t a great victory, but any support—no matter how small—was welcome.

Moody, who had remained silent until then, straightened with deliberate gravity and struck the floor with his staff to claim the room’s attention.

“We have new information on Rookwood,” he growled in his rough voice. All eyes turned to him. Then, with a small tilt of his head—breaking from his habit of monopolising briefings—he added, “Tonks will tell you.”

The young Auror, halfway through pulling a jumper over her head, froze at the abrupt handover. Moody wasn’t the type to give up the spotlight easily; this was, without a doubt, his way of acknowledging his apprentice’s work.

She rose with a determined air, aware that every gaze was now fixed on her. As she did, the crown of her head collided squarely with the edge of a floating lamp, which gave a metallic chime.

“Ow,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes and rubbing the spot.

“Are you alright, dear?” asked Molly, starting towards her.

“Don’t worry, she’s thick-skulled,” Sirius cut in with a wink.

Tonks ran a hand through her hair, a touch embarrassed, half-expecting Lupin to be giving her one of Dawlish’s trademark sarcastic looks from the office. But to her surprise, he was smiling. Not a broad grin, but enough for her to notice.

Recovering and shooting the offending lamp a glare, she cleared her throat and began:

“As you know, we’ve been tracking Augustus Rookwood during his daily routine at the Ministry and after working hours.”

She swept her eyes quickly over the faces around the table. Some tilted their heads in interest; others simply watched with the gravity the matter deserved.

“During one surveillance,” she went on, “we saw something out of the ordinary. He met with an unidentified man in a warehouse in Knockturn Alley.”

Tonks paused briefly to order her thoughts before continuing.

“The man is about six feet tall, slim build, but not frail. His movements were stiff, calculated—like someone used to hiding, or to moving in the shadows. He wore a black robe with frayed edges and, most notably, he had a ring.”

Her fingers traced the shape in the air without thinking.

“Dark in colour, or perhaps tarnished silver. Right hand, little finger. The design looked like a spiral—simple, but distinctive—with a stone set in the middle. It didn’t match any official Ministry insignia. And it wasn’t just decorative—it had something… symbolic. Important. As if it were a mark of identity.”

She shifted slightly before pressing on.

“When the man showed it, Rookwood seemed pleased. As though he knew he could trust him—like that ring guaranteed the information he was about to receive was worth it.”

Tonks drew a breath and went on.

“Their conversation was brief. They exchanged documents—a folder—bearing a seal that looked like a variant of the Department of Mysteries’ emblem, though not an official one. At least, not the one currently in use. A few more minutes, and they were simply gone.”

When she finished, she looked to Moody. He said nothing more, signalling the report was over.

A low murmur rippled around the table, uneasy. Kingsley tilted his head with a frown, and Sirius, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, let out a soft whistle.

“Nothing good can come of that,” he muttered. “Like everything to do with the Department of Mysteries.”

Then, from a dimly lit corner, someone who rarely contributed to meetings straightened in his seat and spoke up

“Did you say a spiral?”

Mundungus Fletcher, who until then had been lazily resting his head on one hand and staring into the distance, was suddenly watching her without blinking.

“Yes,” she replied. “Do you recognise it?”

“Not the guy, obviously. But the symbol.”

The kitchen fell silent.

“I think I know who that man might be,” he said quietly—but with a certainty that made every head turn his way. “Or at least, who he works for.”

Moody fixed his magical eye on Mundungus with intensity.

“Who?”

Mundungus hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether to share the information. Remus, watching him with a scrutinising expression, seemed to put the pieces together and spoke instead.

“From the description of the ring, it could be someone connected to Balthazar Greaves.”

The name hit the table like a stone dropped in water. A few of those present shifted in their seats.

“Greaves used to work in the Department of Mysteries, years ago,” Kingsley explained. “He was dismissed under suspicious circumstances. Rumour had it he was involved in illicit activities, even with Death Eaters—though nothing was ever proven.”

Sirius leaned forward over the table.

“Of course—Balthazar Greaves,” he repeated, with a bitter note of recognition. “I remember him from Hogwarts. He was a few years above us. Always a strange one.”

He glanced at Remus, then at Mundungus, who nodded in agreement.

“Lately, his name only pops up in shady business,” Sirius added, with a crooked, sarcastic smile. “As Dung would say.”

Mundungus shrugged with an almost proud look, clearly pleased to be associated with the word shady in such a serious conversation.

The revelation set the room buzzing with hushed voices.

Tonks made a mental note to dig deeper into Greaves, while the meeting shifted towards their next steps.

They had started the night with a blurry lead and ended it with a name that promised more questions than answers.
But at least they had a thread to pull.

Finally.

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

After the meeting, Tonks was standing, leaning over the table, gathering a heap of parchment and quills that had been left scattered. She was talking to herself as she tried to cram everything into a folder that was already threatening to burst, mentally going over the key points of the discussion.

“Tonks.”

She recognised the voice and looked up, startled. The last thing she had expected was for Remus Lupin to speak to her.

He looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and a pale face, as though he’d only just recovered from an illness.

But there was something different. His features, usually so serious, had softened. Even his eyes, so often dulled, now held a glimmer she hadn’t thought possible in him.

“Good work,” he said sincerely, though his tone was still somewhat reserved. “The information you shared… was crucial. You’ve given us an important lead.”

“I was just doing my job,” she replied with a shrug, trying to sound neutral.

An odd silence settled between them—not exactly uncomfortable.

Tonks moved to walk around the table, but true to form, her foot caught on its leg. She stumbled forward, but before she could fall, a firm hand caught her by the arm, steadying her.

“Always this clumsy?” Lupin asked, a trace of amusement in his voice, though without a hint of mockery.

Tonks straightened quickly, trying to ignore the flush rising in her cheeks.

“Is that your first impression of me?” she shot back, defiant, though her lips had already begun to curl into a smile.

Remus let out a short laugh—a light, unexpected sound that contrasted sharply with his usual apathy. Tonks didn’t notice, but her smile widened slightly.

“I’ve seen worse first impressions,” he admitted, tilting his head. “But don’t worry—yours isn’t bad at all.”

“ISn’t?” she asked, sceptical.

“No. Mine’s probably been worse.”

A heavier silence fell between them, almost like a weight.

Tonks, now genuinely unsure of what to say, glanced away. Until now, Lupin had been closed-off, completely inaccessible, so she couldn’t help but feel thrown off by such an unexpectedly honest remark.

He looked away for a moment, thoughtful, as though choosing his words carefully. When his eyes met hers again, his expression remained calm—almost kind.

“I admit I’ve been… a bit distant,” he said simply. “I don’t tend to mix much with people, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do better. If I’ve come across as gruff or aloof, that wasn’t my intention.”

Tonks’ eyes widened, startled by his frankness, still unsure what to make of it. But there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at her, that felt genuine—almost vulnerable.

Before she could respond, he extended a hand toward her, wearing a faint smile.

“Let’s start over. Remus Lupin.”

Tonks glanced at his hand, then at him. A spark of amusement lit her eyes as she shook it firmly, brushing aside any lingering awkwardness.

“Tonks. Just Tonks.”

His hand was warm, firm, yet soft—at odds with the guarded manner he’d shown her until now.

“I hope first impressions aren’t everything,” he murmured, tilting her head slightly.

“Of course not,” she replied, more at ease now.

Lupin held her gaze for a moment longer before letting go of her hand.

“By the way,” he added, his tone shifting to something more casual, “the Weasley family is great fun. I’m sure you’ll get along with them. Don’t miss the welcome dinner—I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Tonks arched an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

“You think so?”

Lupin nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

“I know them well. They’re warm, welcoming… and have a rather peculiar sense of humour. They’ll make you feel right at home.”

Tonks let out a small laugh, folding her arms, suspicious.

“That’s saying a lot for someone who barely knows me.”

Remus took a moment, as if weighing his response.

“I don’t need to know you for long to tell,” he said evenly. “Some people just fit. And the Weasleys… well, I’m certain you’ll get along with them.”

Tonks raised her eyebrows, as though testing his observation, but soon met his eyes again.

“Alright, Lupin. I’ll take your word for it.”

He smiled once more before taking his leave with his characteristically unhurried stride.

Tonks watched him go, feeling that perhaps Remus Lupin wasn’t entirely indifferent after all.

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

The next morning, Grimmauld Place was brimming with laughter and bustle, and everything suggested this would be only the beginning of a noisy, lively summer.

The Weasley family, accompanied by Hermione, had arrived early with their trademark mix of chaos and energy, dragging trunks, cages, and an endless assortment of belongings.

Sirius greeted them at the door with a radiant smile, as if the simple sight of the house so full had restored something he’d lost long ago.

He shook the adults’ hands firmly, gave a quick handshake to Fred, George, and Ginny, and pulled Ron and Hermione into an especially tight hug—one that seemed to surprise them but also left them pleased by his warmth and good spirits.

“Woow!” Ron exclaimed. “You look well, Sirius.”

“Better than the last time you saw me, eh?” he replied with a half-smile.

Hermione returned the hug warmly.

“You’re definitely looking much better than the last time we saw you,” she added with a genuine smile, as though deeply relieved. “Being here has done you good.”

“Don’t take my word for it—I can still be a grumpy old man when I want to be!” Sirius joked, giving them a wink before stepping aside to let them in.

While the trunks and boxes piled precariously by the door, the newcomers began to settle in.

Hermione was quick to examine every corner, her eyes moving with the focus of someone trying to memorise every detail. But her attention snagged on the first flight of stairs, where the severed heads of former house-elves were mounted on the wall.

Her expression flickered between outrage and disgust.

“This is… awful,” she whispered, unable to look away from the macabre relics.

Beside her, Fred and George seemed to have a very different opinion.

“Sirius!” George called, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Think we could make a few small adjustments to the décor?”

“Yeah! Some garlands, a bit of light…” Fred added with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Or better yet, we could dress the elves up with festive hats!”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, amused.

“I won’t deny the house could use a few changes,” he conceded, “but don’t get your hopes up. Kreacher would go ballistic if you touched ‘his museum.’”

“Oh, yeah?” Fred asked with interest. “And what if we just moved one of the heads… an inch?”

“Then you’d probably wake up Mrs Black,” Sirius replied with a grimace. “And trust me, you don’t want that.”

Ginny, who had been quiet until then, stepped forward with curiosity.

“We want a full tour! I bet this place is full of secrets.”

“Oh, more than you can imagine,” Sirius said with a mischievous smile. “But I warn you—once you’ve seen them, you’ll be having nightmares.”

Fred and George exchanged eager looks, delighted with the idea, as Sirius motioned for them to follow him.

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione had fallen behind, caught up in one of their usual debates.

“I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense,” Ron huffed. “They can’t have put the bedrooms on the third floor if the library’s in the basement. It’s inconvenient.”

“And why would it be inconvenient?” Hermione shot back, exasperated. “Do you need to be near the library?”

“No, but you do!” Ron threw his hands up. “And if you spend all day in there, you’ll just complain later that the stairs are too steep.”

“That makes no sense at all, Ronald!”

Sirius, overhearing as he passed, gave them a look that was equal parts amused and resigned.

“Don’t tell me you’re arguing about the layout of the house…”

“We’re not arguing,” they both replied in unison, which only made Sirius burst out laughing.

“As you say,” he said with a grin. “But if you’re really interested in the architecture of Grimmauld Place, I could tell you about the traps my mother had installed.”

That was enough to grab everyone’s attention. Fred, George, and Ginny hurried after him up the stairs, while Ron and Hermione, momentarily forgetting their quarrel, exchanged a look of renewed interest.

“Traps?” Ron repeated, intrigued.

“This is going to be interesting,” Hermione murmured, with a mix of amusement and wariness.

While the youngests explored the house with Sirius, Molly Weasley was already plotting her next domestic battle.

On the kitchen table, she laid out her arsenal: rags, scrub brushes, basins, polishing potions, and every tool worthy of a full campaign.

The terrain was hostile, but Molly didn’t know the meaning of the word surrender. To her, the mission was clear: turn Grimmauld Place into a real home, not just for her family, but for the members of the Order of the Phoenix as well.

It didn’t take long before she planted herself in the middle of the room like a commander in training, where the kids—her loyal, if not particularly disciplined, cleaning brigade—were gathered after Sirius’s guided tour.

Hands on hips, eyes sweeping the terrain, Molly mentally noted every speck of dust as though they were strategic points on a war map.

“Formation!” she barked, her firm tone even making Sirius raise his eyebrows. “I want this place shining brighter than the floors of Gringotts.”

Fred and George exchanged a look of resignation.

“She’s making us work in a cursed house full of deadly traps, isn’t she?” Fred muttered.

“I’m afraid so, brother,” George agreed with dramatic flair. “Mum’s unsheathed her wand.”

Molly, with the well-trained ears of a mother capable of detecting sarcasm from kilometers away, shot them a sharp look that made both straighten up.

“I heard that, young men. And the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done.”

While Fred and George dragged themselves toward their tasks, Sirius “joined” the operation… though in a far less meticulous fashion. Rather than cleaning, he seemed more intent on stirring up old memories, pulling out relics, and occasionally tossing them in the air as if half-expecting—or half-hoping—that one might do something dangerous.

Molly, on the other hand, entrenched herself in her favorite territory: the kitchen.

With her wand held high and her brow furrowed, she set into motion an army of spoons, ladles, knives, cauldrons, and saucepans, all obeying like well-drilled soldiers.

Ingredients—washed, peeled, and sliced mid-air—sailed across the room in formation, landing precisely in their respective pots.

Flour drifted like a pale cloud, kneading itself lazily before settling on the table, taking on the shape, color, and scent of pasties that promised to be a feast for the senses.

Her determination was unstoppable. And her mastery of domestic magic? Legendary.

Within half an hour, mouthwatering smells began to seep into the walls, creep down the corridors, and climb the stairs, proclaiming that Mrs. Weasley had taken command.

Ginny and Hermione eagerly joined their commander’s ranks, but Ron preferred the role of quality inspector.

“Ronald!” Molly exclaimed, intercepting his hand just before it closed around a piece of meat pie. “In my kitchen, looting is a serious offense.”

“I was just checking if it was properly seasoned,” he replied, his mouth far too full to be convincing.

Ginny elbowed him.

“They should put you to work with Fred and George. Then you’d know what real suffering is.”

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

Despite the little mishaps, messes, and skirmishes, the great kitchen table—which at first had been buried under clutter, parchment, and quills—soon began to fill with plates and platters overflowing with food.

By the time everything was ready, the room had taken on a warm, homely atmosphere that stood in sharp contrast to its once-gloomy, oppressive past. It was as if, by some unspoken spell, Grimmauld Place had begun to turn into an extension of the Burrow.

The chairs, all mismatched, had been dragged up to the table without much thought for order, but no one cared to fix them. This wasn’t a formal dinner—it was something better: an improvised family feast.

That was when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and the front door swung open with a bang.
Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped in with his usual imposing presence, followed by Alastor Moody, who swept the room with his magical eye spinning in every direction.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” Tonks burst into the house with her usual energy—and her usual clumsiness. The moment she set foot inside, she tripped over a poorly placed rug and nearly went sprawling.

But she was so taken aback by the sight of the table laden with food that she didn’t even have time to be embarrassed.

“Wow, this is amazing!” she exclaimed. “This looks like the Hogwarts menu on Christmas Eve! Molly, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Her stomach growled loudly, prompting a snicker from Fred.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry.”

“After an entire day of training with Kingsley, my stomach’s stuck to my spine,” the Auror grumbled, collapsing into a chair as if she’d just survived a war of her own. “Don’t tell me all this is just for us…”

“I don’t see anyone else here, so you’d better start before Ron eats it all,” George said, clapping his brother on the back.

Arthur and Molly hurried to make introductions, though Ginny and Hermione had already stepped forward, approaching Tonks with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

Ginny’s eyes shone as she took in Tonks’s laid-back, rebellious style, while Hermione, though more used to Muggle clothing, couldn’t help but notice just how extravagant her outfit was.

“I love your hair!” Ginny exclaimed, staring at the bubblegum-pink locks with genuine fascination.

Tonks laughed, amused by the younger girl’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah? Well, you haven’t seen anything yet…”

With a playful wink, her hair instantly shifted into a crackling electric blue, as though a lightning bolt had just struck her head.

Ginny and Hermione gasped in surprise before breaking into fascinated smiles.

It didn’t take long for everyone to settle around the table and start eating.
Fred and George were swapping anecdotes with Kingsley and Sirius, slipping in quips between mouthfuls.
Moody, quieter than usual, was devouring pasties as if he hadn’t eaten in days, while Hermione and Ginny told Tonks—between laughter and the occasional groan—about the rigorous cleaning plan Molly had devised.

“This is the first step to making Grimmauld Place a proper home again,” Molly declared with a satisfied expression, joining the conversation. “And besides, it keeps you busy doing something useful this summer instead of lazing about”

Fred and George clutched their chests in a theatrical display of outrage.

“But Mum! Don’t you understand we’re in a crucial stage of developing our new products?” Fred protested. “Innovation takes time.”

“And peace and quiet,” George added solemnly.

“Oh, come on, Molly,” Sirius cut in, winking at the twins. “If you leave these two alone in the house long enough, I’m sure they’ll find something useful to do… like blowing the curtains off the sitting room windows.”

The twins’ eyes lit up, trying and failing to pretend that such a brilliant idea hadn’t already occurred to them.

Before Molly could reply, the kitchen door swung open again, letting in a soft breeze and a figure with an easy stride.

Remus Lupin appeared in the doorway, pausing for just a moment as he took in the table full of familiar faces. His gaze swept over the scene, and something in his expression softened instantly—as though the sight reminded him what it was like to belong somewhere.

Arthur was the first to rise and greet him, followed swiftly by his children, who surrounded him with the natural warmth of a family welcoming someone who already felt like one of their own.

From her seat, Tonks watched quietly. She was used to seeing Remus with the Order: composed, distant, always carrying that air of resigned self-control.

But here, among the Weasleys, he seemed different. Almost… happy.

For the briefest moment, his eyes met hers, and he smiled—a warm, genuine smile that caught her off guard and made her glance away.

The afternoon slipped by in bursts of laughter and lively conversation as plates emptied and stories flowed easily.

The twins had an innate gift for making everyone laugh. With wild gestures and overly dramatic expressions, they recounted their latest experiments—some absurd, others outright hilarious.

“And then—BANG!” Fred—or maybe George—exclaimed, waving his arms for emphasis. “The teapot started swelling up like a toad with the hiccups, and Mum nearly killed us.”

“You exaggerate,” George—or maybe Fred—countered with mock dignity. “It was more of a harmonious whistle.”

“It was not a whistle, George!” Ginny interrupted, laughing. “It sounded like it was about to explode.”

“That only made breakfast more exciting,” the twin defended, shrugging.

Sirius roared with laughter from his seat.

“Merlin’s beard, I’d have adopted you if I’d met you sooner. You’re exactly the kind of chaos this house needed.”

“Well, well, if you insist…” Fred said, feigning modesty. “But you’ll have to leave us something in the will.”

In the middle of all the laughter and noise, Hermione kept stealing glances at Tonks. She couldn’t stop thinking about how effortlessly the Auror had changed her hair colour earlier. Curiosity, as always, won out.

“Tonks, how do you do it? Changing your appearance like that. Is it a spell or…?”

Still smiling, Tonks shook her head.

“Nope, not a spell. I’m a Metamorphmagus”

Ginny frowned in confusion, while Hermione’s eyes went wide.

“Of course!” she exclaimed, as though everything suddenly clicked. “I read about it in the Transfiguration textbooks… and McGonagall mentioned it in class.”

Ron, busy with his fork, looked up.

“Er… she did?” he asked, scratching his head. “McGonagall said that?”

Hermione shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone. Before she could scold him for not paying attention in class, Ginny interrupted impatiently:

“What does that mean?”

Tonks leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying the attention.

“Metamorphmagus means I can change my physical appearance. Not just my face or hair—my whole body.”

Ginny nodded slowly, still looking puzzled.

Tonks continued, her tone full of enthusiasm.
“If I want, I can make myself taller, shorter, change my skin tone, my eye colour… or even give myself bat wings if I feel like it. The key is control—because it’s not always as easy as it looks.”

The twins, who had been joking with Sirius a moment before, instantly turned to her.

“Hang on, hang on…” Fred cut in, staring at her in disbelief. “You can really do all that without a single spell?”

“Yes,” Tonks replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’s a hereditary ability. My mum can do it too.”

“And you can change your whole body at once?” Ron asked, chewing on a chicken leg.

Tonks shook her head honestly.

“In theory, yes. But I don’t have the control to pull off a full transformation yet. Sometimes I can change several things at once, but the bigger the change, the harder it is to hold. It’s not just about transforming—it’s about sustaining it, fine-tuning the details… and that takes years. I’ve been practising since I was a kid.”

The Weasleys stared at her in silence. Tonks leaned forward on her elbows, grinning at the curious faces around her.

Ginny, unable to hold back, blurted:

“You have to show us!”

The twins, naturally, joined in immediately, their eyes sparkling with anticipation and their grins wide and infectious.

Tonks narrowed her eyes, pretending to weigh the request.

“I don’t know… I don’t know…” she teased, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the conversation had drawn everyone’s attention.

The twins began making overly dramatic faces, waving their hands like they were at a magic show. Ginny clasped her hands together as if making a wish. Even Ron, unable to resist, muttered:

“Come on, Tonks, don’t leave us hanging.”

Tonks chuckled, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“All right—but you’re going to owe me a favour.”

Without further ado, she got ready to wow them.

Tonks closed her eyes in concentration, and within seconds she began to change. If Ginny and Hermione had thought they were already impressed, this left them completely speechless.

The Auror’s face cycled through a dizzying array of shapes, each more ridiculous than the last: long rabbit ears poking up from her head, a perfectly sculpted duck bill, insect antennae sprouting from her forehead, an adorable pig snout, and finally, a cascade of silver hair tumbling over her shoulders accompanied by a beard that nearly brushed the floor.

“Dumbledore!” Ginny gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Tonks clasped her hands behind her back, cleared her throat dramatically, and with a solemn expression and a mischievous smile, proclaimed:

“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times… if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

She winked at Ginny.

The twins burst into laughter, and Sirius applauded enthusiastically, laughing along with them.

“That’s brilliant!”

Tonks wasn’t about to waste the moment to show off her star trick.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wriggled her nose twice, and in the blink of an eye her face shifted completely: pointed ears stretching above her head, a muzzle pushing out from her lips, and with a sly grin, she let out a low, rumbling howl that echoed through the kitchen.

An ode to the moon. The call of the wolf.

There was a beat of silence—then the room erupted into more laughter and applause. Even Molly, busy clearing plates, couldn’t help glancing over and shaking her head in amused disbelief.

“Brilliant!” George shouted, thumping the table.

“Phenomenal!” Fred added, raising his glass in an impromptu toast, eyeing Tonks with a mix of admiration and gratitude.

Still laughing, Tonks returned to her original form. Her hair shifted back to its usual bubblegum pink, tousled as though it had enjoyed the fun too, and her face returned to human shape, free of snouts, whiskers, claws, or antennae.

“For Merlin’s sake, you’ve got to teach us that!” George begged, eyes sparkling as he leaned toward her as if she held the key to the greatest trick in the world.

Tonks shook her head.

“Sorry, boys—it’s natural talent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked, clearly siding with Fred and George’s plea.

“It means you can’t learn it,” Sirius chimed in, arms crossed and a wicked smile on his face. “It’s a hereditary gift—a bloodline trait.”

Fred and George sighed in unison, staring at her with exaggerated disappointment. Hermione huffed in frustration, tugging at a stray curl, wishing she could find some magical way to tame her frizz.

“So there’s no way I could do it?” George pressed, frowning.

Remus, who had been silent until now—though he hadn’t missed a single transformation—finally spoke up with a calm smile.

“The ability runs in the blood, like house-elves or natural Animagi,” he explained. “There’s no formula to learn it yourself. It’s something that simply… happens. Metamorphmagus talent is rare—and spectacular,” he added, looking at Tonks with a hint of camaraderie. “Very few witches and wizards can change their appearance without potions or spells nowadays.”

Tonks blinked at him, surprised by his knowledge, and he gave her a light smile, a spark in his eyes that lit up his face in a way she’d never seen before. He almost looked like a different person.

Without realising it, her own smile widened—not just because she’d dodged another possible Dawlish in her life, but because Remus Lupin seemed far more likeable than she’d expected. Someone she genuinely wanted to know.

At that moment, Fred, wearing his usual mischievous grin, leaned toward George and murmured just loudly enough for everyone to hear:

“If we ever become Metamorphmagus, do you think we could rearrange our freckles so Mum could finally tell us apart?”

George burst out laughing.

“Only if it makes us more handsome, Fred. We need something worth saving!”

The room roared with laughter, but Molly—standing nearby—gave them a look that clearly said, I always know which one’s which.

Tonks, enjoying the moment, crossed her arms with a playful smirk.

“Not sure you could improve on what you’ve already got, boys,” she teased.

The laughter swelled, filling the kitchen with the warm, chaotic energy so uniquely Weasley. And in the midst of all the jokes and noise, Tonks found herself feeling entirely at home in that delightful mess.

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

The night carried on with more chatter, laughter, and good cheer until, little by little, the energy began to settle, giving way to quieter moments.
Sirius wandered over to Tonks and dropped into the chair beside her.
He slid a cold beer her way.

“Here you go, cousin. You’ve earned it,” he said, clinking his bottle against hers. “You made such a performance.”

She couldn’t help smiling at the sound of the word cousin. She liked it.

“Thanks—and thanks for the beer,” she replied, lifting the bottle to her lips and savoring the cool refreshment. “I needed this.”

Sirius took a swig and settled back in his chair, scanning the room with an expression that blended nostalgia and disbelief. He tipped his head toward the Weasleys, still lost in their stream of jokes and anecdotes.

“You know,” he murmured, as if he still couldn’t quite believe it, “I never imagined seeing a scene like this in this house. When I was a kid… Grimmauld Place was the exact opposite.”

Tonks shot him a sidelong glance, recalling the portrait of the Black family he’d once sketched for her in words.

“I can imagine,” she said quietly, following his gaze and thinking of the scorch marks on the family tapestry. “I doubt your mother was the sort to host lively dinners like this.”

Sirius let out a dry laugh.

“Walburga Black had very firm ideas about how a ‘pure-blood family’ should conduct itself,” he said with a mocking twist of his lips. “And I can assure you, those ideas did not involve a table full of noisy redheads and cheeky half-bloods.”

Tonks smirked, resting a hand on her chest in exaggerated solemnity.

“Well then, she’d have absolutely loved to see me here.”

This time, Sirius’s laugh was genuine, just as Remus joined them, taking a seat with a calm expression.

“What are you two laughing about?” he asked, giving them a curious look as he reached for another beer.

“Oh, just how much the late Mrs. Black would have loved this dinner,” Sirius replied, leaning back with a lazy air.

Remus arched a brow and leaned in conspiratorially.

“Well, if it’s any comfort, she’s probably turning in her portrait right now.”

“We might hear her screaming any minute,” Sirius added.

Tonks frowned, glancing between them, until something clicked in her mind.

“Wait… the portrait that spews a torrent of insults whenever someone breathes too loudly, makes noise, or trips over the umbrella stand…?” She shot a look at Remus, who gave her a knowing smile. “That’s your mother, Sirius?”

Sirius raised his bottle in mock solemnity.

“Yes, Tonks, you’ve had the pleasure of being insulted, scolded, and lectured by the last matriarch of the noble house, the very honorable Mrs. Walburga Black,” he declared with as much pomp as he could muster, before twisting his mouth into a comic grimace.

Tonks burst out laughing.

“Well, poor her. I’m afraid I’m going to trip over that bloody umbrella stand a lot.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” Remus interjected, sipping his beer with a smile that reached his eyes.

Tonks blinked in surprise. Sirius gave her a mischievous look.

“Did you just make a joke, Remus Lupin?”

“Me? Never.”

“Oh, yes you did,” Tonks pressed, siding with Sirius. “You even smiled… mischievously.”

Remus shook his head with feigned indifference.

“Don’t exaggerate, Tonks.”

Sirius, who had been watching with growing amusement, cut in with theatrical flourish:

“It’s true. I saw it. In fact, I think this is the first time in history that ‘Remus Lupin’ and ‘mischief’ have appeared in the same sentence.”

“Let’s not get off-topic,” Remus interrupted with mock seriousness, raising his bottle. “I firmly believe we should toast in her honor, To Walburga Black, may she never rest in peace.”

Tonks and Sirius laughed and clinked their bottles against his just as, across the table, Fred and George exchanged a mischievous grin—moments before a loud BANG echoed from the kitchen.

Sirius turned his head, watched the smoke drifting from the twins’ direction, then looked back at Remus and Tonks with a satisfied grin.

“And to Molly’s patience,” he concluded, raising his bottle again. “She’s going to need it—because I doubt she’ll rest easy with those two running around.”

The three of them burst out laughing once more, while the warmth of the dinner seemed to wrap Grimmauld Place in a sense of home it had never truly known before.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I’d been looking forward to bringing the Weasleys into this story. As you can see, I imagined Molly as a true war commander, leading her battalion against the shadows, dust, and grime of the very noble, but very neglected, Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Pretty much exactly what my own mother would do.

I try to make my descriptions rich in detail so you can see exactly what I see. Basically, I picture Molly just like Lumière in Beauty and the Beast, during the Be Our Guest scene. I’ve been weaving in scenes or fragments from other stories that inspired me — as I already mentioned with the movie Monster House — and I’ll keep revealing them as we go along.

I think I may have mentioned this before, but in my version, I made Andromeda a Metamorphmagus. I believe that, the first time I read Harry Potter, I actually assumed she was one. But since the books didn’t go into her story, I didn’t think much of it back then.
One of my main points of interest here is to explore the family magic and Tonks’ Metamorphmagus abilities in depth. We already know that when her emotions overflow, her magic wreaks havoc… but how far can she really go? How much control does she have? Can she get better? We’ll find out soon enough.

I’ve also adopted a concept that exists in other sagas and movies, but which, in my opinion, is best explained in Naruto: the “blood barrier.” Even the name feels perfect and true to what it represents. In this story, families with a long-standing lineage will have spells and magic protected by a blood barrier — hereditary, innate, and impossible to learn outside the bloodline.

Thank you for reading!