Author's Note: Sirius doesn't make an appearance here, but his death would have changed things and I wasn't in the mood to factor that in. So we'll just have to say that this conversation takes place while Sirius is alive.

Summary: Nymphadora Tonks comes for a late-night chat with her mother. Possibly one-sided RLNT.

I actually wrote this before HBP came out. I write RLNT because the idea fascinates me. I didn't think it at all likely and wouldn't have thrown a fit if it never became cannon. Personally, I think that that Tonks' rant at the end of HBP was so convenient for all of us RL/NT 'shippers that I suspect that one of us threatened Rowling or something to get it in. Seriously, wasn't it perfect?

Late-Night Chat

It was late evening, and Andromeda Black-Tonks was putting away just-cleaned dishes from her muggle dish-washer. She liked to wake up to a clean, well-ordered kitchen with everything in its proper place. Ted didn't understand, but he had given up on talking her out of it decades ago, and now he would just watch sports or something during Andromeda's cleaning time. Daughter of the proudest pure-blood family in the wizard world, Andromeda would and did happily live an apparently muggle life in a muggle tract home in a muggle suburb for her muggle-born husband. But she would not live a disordered life for anyone or anything.

It was late evening when the loud CRACK of an apparation made the dishes rattle in their racks.

"Wotcher, mum."

Andromeda smiled and turned around. She had just been wondering earlier today when her daughter was going to pay her next regularly un-scheduled visit.

Nymphadora still wore her heart-shaped, fluorescent-haired "just call me 'Tonks'" face. She would need some wearing down, then. But then Andromeda watched Nymphadora walk over to the confectionary corner of the kitchen and take approximately half of the homemade dark-chocolate-chip cookies from their jar. While not a good sign for her health or self-control, it did indicate that she was too distracted to watch herself. For the purposes of these late-night chats, that was a good sign. There were four chairs at the dining table just a few feet away, but Nymphadora chose to sit on the kitchen stool. That was also a good sign. Perhaps she did not need very much wearing down.

"Hello, dear."

Andromeda set a small saucepan on the stove and began boiling some water. Hot chocolate was always a good way to put Nymphadora at ease.

Nymphadora grinned when she saw Andromeda take out the powdered cocoa. Andromeda made hot chocolate, and everything else, from scratch. The old Black arrogance had never actually dissolved, it had just begun manifesting itself in weird ways, like a refusal to "cheat" buy using baking mixes or microwaves.

They chatted while the water boiled and while Andromeda mixed the hot chocolate and poured it into two mugs, giving one to Nymphadora and keeping one to herself. Andromeda carefully avoided calling her daughter 'Nymphadora', even though that was her name. They had had a truce for years: Nymphadora was not Nymphadora until she dropped the neon-haired mask that everyone outside of her family knew.

Finally, Nymphadora sighed and shook her head. Her hair turned a natural, mousy brown.This was her true form. Now she was ready to talk.

"What is it, Nymphadora?"

"Nothing."

Andromeda just smiled patiently, encouragingly. She knew that Nymphadora would soon crack. And Nymphadora knew that she knew. And so on. Nymphadora simply needed to find the proper words.

But Nymphadora sighed and shoved another cookie into her mouth. The moment was lost.

Andromeda stepped back and considered her evidence. Mother and daughter both knew the routine. Nymphadora had come here to say something. But she didn't know how to say it, and she didn't know that she wanted to say it. Andromeda's role was to lower Nymphadora' defenses so that she could trip herself up and blurt out what she wanted to say. Then they could discuss things rationally. But Nymphadora was unusually unsure as to whether or not she wanted to say what she wanted to say, and Andromeda needed more data.

"Have you befriended any particularly nice young men lately?"

Nymphadora's habitual response was to roll her eyes. But instead, she blushed, laughed, and jerked away. "No, no one new."

Andromeda was a patient and level-headed woman. She had no doubt that, if her daughter could just survive this war, she would find someone to settle down with eventually, and Andromeda would get her grandchildren in due time. There was no need to push. But something was on Nymphadora's mind, and on this of all subjects. So perhaps there was reason to push.

"Some one old?"

"It's just a crush," Nymphadora said, hurriedly, and the blush deepened, "I'm sure he doesn't feel the same toward me. It's just that he's such a gentleman that I can't tell if he's just being polite, or if—oh mum, he's going to drive me insane!"

Andromeda brought up a chair from the dining room and sat next to her daughter and hugged her as Nymphadora continued.

"And you know what? He won't even know why. He's clueless. I'll go stark raving mad and he'll just look at me all confused and wonder why that strange pink-haired girl lost her mind! Or if she had a mind to begin with..."

And then Nymphadora laughed at herself, genuinely amused. Andromeda smiled. Nymphadora sighed, "I'm hysteric, aren't I?"

"That's quite possible, dear."

"I'll bet you were never hysteric over a bloke."

"Your father has driven me up the wall a few times over the years."

"That's because he's a slob and you're a neat-freak. It's not like this."

"Not like what?"

"I hate it when I do something to remind him that I'm silly or clumsy, or young. And then I hate it when I'm sad, but pretending to be happy, and he goes along. But mum, how can I want him to know me if I don't want him to know how pathetic I am?"

"You know full well, Nymphadora Tonks, that you are not pathetic," Andromeda replied sternly.

"He always calls me 'Nymphadora', too."

"And what do you admire in him?"

Nymphadora blushed again, but she smiled too, and her eyes took on a faraway look, "He's so kind, and polite to everyone, even those who treat him like a—who don't respect him. He's usually serious, but he's got a wry sense of humor at the oddest times. He understands the value of friendship, and honesty—and chocolate!" She held up her hot-chocolate mug as if in a toast.

Andromeda smiled. Yes, Nymphadora did indeed value chocolate. "Is he cute?"

Nymphadora tilted her head and rested her chin on her left hand. Her face took on a thoughtful look. "You know, I didn't think so before. But now I have to watch myself carefully or I'll just drift off staring at him."

"And what do you know of his feelings toward you?"

"I told you. He thinks that I am a child—he is a bit older than me. He thinks I'm the clumsy, pink-haired girl over there breaking anything she tries to help with. I suppose he thinks of me as a friend, if even that. He's nice to me, but then he's nice to everybody."

"And how then will he drive you 'stark raving mad'?"

"Whenever he opens a door for me, I just can't help but think, 'maybe he does like me'. But he's so nice anyway, how could I know if he was being extra nice? I just can't. And I try anyway. And I go insane. And I'm just about to give up, and then he goes out of his way just to compliment me on my latest hairstyle, even though I know he must think it's garish. And I just can't give up after that, can I?"

"If he values honesty so highly, why would he go out of his way to comment you on an appearance he did not like?"

"I don't know!"

Andromeda raised her eyebrows and sat back. Mother and daughter sat in comfortable silence, thinking. It was perhaps the one habit they had in common.

"We talked, yesterday, about what it was like to be a metamorphagus. He's a—he has his own reasons for not always letting people see who he really is. So he sort of understands it already. And he asked to see my true form."

"And?"

"Well, immediately he apologized for being so 'indiscreet' and said goodnight and went to bed—"

"This was in your flat?"

"What? Oh, no, we were at Sirius' place." Nymphadora blushed. They had been at Grimwald Place. And of course it was better that Mother know that they were not together at Nymphadora's place. But Nymphadora knew how mother's mind worked: there were only so many men who frequented Grimmauld Place. By now, Andromeda probably had enough data to determine who they were discussing. "Anyway, he just left. I don't know what happened. I think... I think that if he had stayed, I would have let him see me."

Andromeda was intrigued. She accepted that Nymphadora had chosen to downplay her Black heritage, to go by the name of 'Tonks', to wear a face other than her own, because her true form too closely resembled that of her mother... and her aunt Bellatrix. But if Nymphadora was now ready for someone outside of their family to know her heart of hearts... Well, he must be an incredible young man. Or not so young.

"How much older than you is he?"

Nymphadora let out a loud sigh and held her head in her hands. "It's Remus, Sirius's friend."

That would explain what they were doing in Sirius' home at night. Remus was 15 years older, but then Nymphadora was of age. And what he had to hide—that would be his lycanthropy. But Nymphadora knew what she was getting into there. And as far as Andromeda knew, he was indeed very kind and polite. So why would he ask a question and not wait for the answer?

"Perhaps he was nervous," Andromeda said, "and didn't want to frighten you by asking to see your true form."

"What can I do, mum?"

"There aren't really any shortcuts to this sort of thing," Andromeda said, in the same matter-of-fact tone she had used when explaining cooking or arithmancy to her daughter, "you must make sure he can see that you appreciate his company, that in reality he has not frightened you away. Ideally, you should give up trying to hide your foibles from him, since you want him to know more, not less, about you. Try not to dwell on your flaws anyway. Look for opportunities to be kind to him in return. And Nymphadora?"

"Yes?"

"Do try to keep your head in ordinary life. I want grandchildren some day, and that means you have to survive this."

Nymphadora frowned.

"What are you thinking, Nymphadora?"

"It really isn't a great time for this, is it?"

Andromeda smiled sadly. "I don't know if there are very many great times. Would you consider my marriage to your father well-timed?" Just before Voldemort and his supporters had begun openly attacking muggle-borns and blood-traitors? No, that had not been an ideal time for a Black to marry a Tonks. "Don't let them determine when you can and can't live your own life, Nymphadora. Don't let them win."

They were silent a while more. Nymphadora had said what she needed to say, and heard what she needed to hear. "Thanks, mum."

Nymphadora stood to go.

"Your father will be jealous that you came to visit me but not him," Andromeda said.

"I'll make it up to him, visit tomorrow or sometime during lunch break. Bye mum. And thanks for listening."

And, with another loud CRACK, Nymphadora disapparated. Andromeda stood in her empty kitchen, staring at the two dirtied mugs and small saucepan. She stood still and listened for the television. If a television was on anywhere in the house, she could hear it's distinctive whine. But she could hear that Ted had already turned it off. Well, it was late, and the mugs and saucepan could wait. Andromeda smiled and went to bed.