Sequel to Adorare and Stepping Out, this is yet another Very Heavily Revised installment of the Transfigured Hearts series, including a completely new first chapter and a much higher R rating. I felt that at this juncture it was crucial to delve more into Remus' work for the Order, his lycanthropy, and how it affects his self-image, as well as to establish that he and Tonks just don't always communicate on the same wave length. Hopefully together with Stepping Out this new version of Recurring Problem will work better in the overall story arc than it did before, along with a lovers' quarrel that doesn't come quite so out of the blue!

As always, many thanks to my incomparable beta reader and very dear friend Godricgal, who I think knows my stories far better than I know them myself!

Part One

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place lived up to its grim old name as the peeling black front door groaned on its hinges and Remus stepped through into the dark, damp-smelling hall.

It was like walking into a tomb, he thought, leaning back to nudge the door shut behind him with his shoulder.

A draft swept through from another part of the sepulchral house; he clutched his suitcase in both hands, heedless of the fact that so tight a grip might be the undoing of the handle which had been threatening to fall off, feeling every inch the schoolboy suffering a bad case of the heebie-jeebies as the air ruffled the curtains of Mrs. Black's muttering portrait, carrying whispers of the ghosts of those they'd fought against fifteen years ago, who might well be the end of them this time around. Hardly the comforting homecoming Remus longed for at the end of a research assignment that not only had stretched from the intended week to ten days, but also dredged up his own demons.

Not to mention the fear that in this war, they would not remain his alone to battle.

In the months since he'd sold his family's home in Exmoor, Remus had largely managed not to miss it -- or at least to squelch the feeling. Now, in desperate need of rest, and peace, and warmth, he could not ignore the deep stab of longing for the little turret bedroom of his boyhood; how he wanted a mug of his mum's special recipe hot chocolate to sip in bed and then to be lulled to sleep on the promise signified by the steady rumble of his parents' voices downstairs, that he belonged there, and was loved.

"Oi!" bellowed a voice, slightly muffled as it came from the end of the long front hall and down the narrow staircase leading to the basement kitchen below. "That you, Moony?"

Not at all a soothing voice like the remembered ones of his parents, but it was enough to make Remus stand up straighter, the weight on his shoulders lightened by a sense of welcome in this otherwise oppressively depressive atmosphere.

"Yes, Padfoot. It's me."

The thump of his bag as he dropped it at the foot of the wide staircase with its ornate serpentine railing, which led up to the main living floors of the house, drowned out most of Sirius' reply. Remus did catch something about a "sympathetic sod" and a "giddy wench," and he hazarded to guess that Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones had been 'round to entertain Sirius this week.

A little more of Remus' gloom slipped away, or else was Transfigured into compassion. For Sirius, the past ten days here had likely been more tortuous than the ones Remus had passed on the road. At least he had an end and a change to look forward to; Sirius' confinement continued indeterminately. The thought worked to Summon energy from a resource he hadn't realised before now he possessed. Remus strode down the corridor, something like a spring coming into his step.

"Did you make me that sandwich I sent my Patronus to ask you for?" he called out, descending the kitchen stairs.

"You know this is exactly why I never allowed myself to form a romantic attachment to you."

Sirius grinned up from where he was sat with his bare feet on the table, surrounded by a cold roast, a loaf of bread, several bags of crisps, a jar of horseradish sauce, and a platter of thick roast beef sandwiches. There were no plates, but there was an inordinate amount of cutlery for sandwich-making. If he hadn't been starving, Remus might have said something about the knives, or at least given them a second thought, but as it was his mouth watered for roast beef with just a touch of horseradish, and he began taking the steps two at a time, the sooner to reach the sandwiches. Somehow, his fixation on the food didn't distract him from Sirius' deepening smirk.

"I knew you'd be the type of husband who'd call about bloody sandwiches on his way home from work without so much as a Wotcher, darling, and how was your day? I missed you awfully. Give us a kiss!"

Remus' mouth was too full of roast beef to reply, but Sirius didn't seem to expect one, only laughed at Remus groaning as the juicy sandwich delighted his taste buds, stuffed his own mouth with a handful of sour cream and onion crisps, and said, "Giff oo lil ti, mahe."

Remus swallowed his sandwich, and then told Sirius to do the same.

Sirius did, and bared his strong yellow teeth, coated with crisp crumbs, in a grin. "Give you a little tip, mate."

"I did understand you. But you know werewolves haven't cultivated a taste for seafood. "

Rolling his eyes at the pun, Sirius said, "If you're planning to marry Tonks, you'll want to learn the error of that way."

"If I married Tonks..." Remus paused to finish off his sandwich. "...I wouldn't be the one with a job to come home hungry from, would I?"

Sirius swung his feet down to the floor and leant forward in his chair, eagerly, Remus thought, only to reach for a sandwich. "Thought about it, have you?"

Now it was Remus doing the eye-rolling as he pulled out the chair opposite Sirius, shaking off the hairy big feet that had found their way onto it.

"If I married anybody," said Remus, sitting, "I would be the partner with nothing to do but stay at home and make sandwiches. And anyway, I'd always been under the impression that the reason you never formed a romantic attachment to me was that..." He leant low over the table and said, conspiratorially, "...you're not gay."

"That's me: Sirius A. Black, straight as a centaur's arrow and refuses to be loved for his sandwiches."

"But I do love you for these sandwiches. Very much."

Remus devoured a second one while Sirius watched, his own forgotten.

"Didn't you eat at all while you were away?"

The light of amusement faded from Sirius' eyes, darkening them to a stormy depth of colour that took Remus back more than twenty years, to an early morning in the hospital wing when all his mate's graceful arrogance and wicked charm had slipped away into the gentlest compassion Remus had ever seen etched on a human face. It had filled him with gratitude and brotherly affection, but at the same time made him loath to let on how truly bloody awful he felt; Sirius had enough to worry about with his mum sending Howlers every day at breakfast that declared to the entire school what a shame he was to her flesh, how he besmirched her fathers by being Sorted into Gryffindor House and behaving in the same low manner as the Lupin and Pettigrew brats -- not to mention the Potter boy who ought to have known better considering his bloodline.

Chewing slowly, Remus pondered how to respond to Sirius now. Part of him wanted very much to tell him everything, as there was no doubt that in his old friend he would find a sympathetic ear. But sympathy would come at a high price; this mission would worry Sirius and, trapped as he was here, worry could only add more frustration to his load at not being able to go out and do something for the Order.

Remus swallowed his sandwich, which settled into his stomach as a heavy weight. His throat felt very dry as he said with a shrug, "You remember how these travelling missions are."

There was a flash of longing in the grey eyes, and Remus tensed, cursing himself for drawing attention to the fact that once upon a time, Sirius had been sent out on Order missions, too. But he sensed, as Sirius again stuck his hand into the bag of crisps, watching Remus all the time, that his thoughts were mainly directed outward.

"Obscure villages?" he said. "With inns that make the Hog's Head look like the Ritz?"

"Precisely."

Remus didn't mention the fact that in addition to the food, not a single inn had boasted a bed that didn't make the one night he'd spent at Aberforth's establishment with a goat's horns protruding through the mattress seem like sleeping on fairy floss in comparison.

Not that a feather mattress enchanted with sleeping spells would've helped him sleep at the end of each of those ten, long, draining days.

"Any Firewhisky?" Remus glanced at the spread on the table between them, his spirits having sunk again. "I haven't had a decent drink in days, either."

His insides twisted with guilt at complaining about the few people he'd met who'd been kind enough to offer him a cup of a vile herbal substance intended to pass as tea or a shot of even fouler home-brewed liquor.

"Sorry, mate," Sirius answered. "Neither've I. Molly wouldn't even buy me bloody Butterbeer. I got Dung to bring me over some booze, but it tasted like piss so I've unfortunately been sober the whole time you were away. Pumpkin juice, though!" He Summoned a bottle and two glasses from the cupboard. "What was that useful little spell you used to do for fermenting it?"

Remus looked at him for a moment, feeling a little wrong-footed at the interruption of his reverie. "Fermentare pepon?"

"Pepon, that's right. I couldn't remember."

Sirius tapped the side of the pumpkin juice bottle with his wand as he uttered the spell, then twisted off the cap and poured two tumblers full.

"To returning home." He started to drink, but paused with his glass to his lips to mutter, "If coming back to this hellhole counts."

"Believe me..." Remus shoved away the images that swirled to the front of his mind of the gatehouse in Exmoor by clinking his glass to Sirius'. "It does."

They threw back their pumpkin wine, and Sirius sputtered and coughed.

"This tasted a hell of a lot better when we were kids."

Remus shoved a handful of salt and vinegar crisps into his mouth to cover the vile pumpkiny taste, which was far worse than anything he'd been served during his travels.

"The excitement of doing something we shouldn't lent a sweetness to the flavour, I think," he said.

"We're doing something we shouldn't now, aren't we, drinking behind Molly's back?"

"It's more potent when you've not learnt to hold Firewhisky."

"You're moody tonight, Moony." Sirius cocked his head to the side as he tilted his chair onto its back legs. "Obviously you've not spoken to the fair Nymphadora yet."

Remus had reached for a third sandwich, but his hand hovered over the platter, his heart also stopping. He looked down, his hair falling into his face.

No. He'd not spoken to Tonks. He'd tried, but...

Well, he'd been over it enough in his own mind. No need to rehash it again, with himself or Sirius.

There was a faint scratching sound as Sirius rubbed his hand over his stubbly chin. "I should've thought you'd be there, not here, snogging and carrying on about how slowly the days went by without each other's googly eyes to gaze into. I didn't think she was down for guard duty tonight."

Remus' hand closed with a little too much force around the roast beef. Of course Sirius wouldn't see things his way. Of course he would want to discuss everything ad nauseum. Settling back into his chair, Remus took a bite and chewed slowly, measuring his response.

Finally, he said, "You never know what she might get tied up with at the Ministry."

"She did know you'd be back today, didn't she?"

Only someone who knew Sirius as well as Remus did would have detected the accusation that underpinned the otherwise innocuously spoken words. Bristling, and feeling a defensive reply at the tip of his tongue, Remus rose from his chair and went to the larder in search of something to drink. He couldn't believe Molly hadn't even bought Butterbeer, or that Sirius hadn't managed to cajole one of the Order to bring him a stash. He thought he'd hidden a few cans of his own personal supply of Pumpkin Pop right at the back before he went away.

"She's my girlfriend," he said, spying them and delving deep into the larder to retrieve two of the concealed cans. "Of course she knew."

"'Course she would."

"I owled her this morning to say that if my interview went according to plan, I would be here tonight."

"I see."

"I can't believe you'd even ask," said Remus, but he tossed one of the cans of Pumpkin Pop to Sirius, who, though still perched on his precariously tilted chair, caught it with a lazy outward flick of his hand.

"Don't you know by now there's nothing I wouldn't ask?" said Sirius.

"Why would you ask?"

Chin lifted at the same haughty angle to his chair, Sirius gave Remus one of those level stares that had always turned Peter into a snivelling wreck.

"I don't know, Remus. Maybe because you didn't bother to owl her all week?"

The hiss of the can popping open covered Remus' sharp indrawn breath. How did Sirius know...? His stomach simmered like the carbonated contents of the can. There was only one way Sirius could know that. Nauseous (from three roast beef sandwiches, he told himself, unconvincingly), Remus raised the can to his lips, wishing, as the sickly-sweet pumpkin-flavoured fizzy drink flowed onto his tongue and into his churning stomach that it was a steadying lemon and lime instead.

Not that lemon and lime would have quelled the sort of nausea that did not stem from three roast beef sandwiches.

"As I said," Remus began, the words catching in his throat, "my travels were to obscure Muggle villages that lacked owl post offices. Nor did any of the magical people I met with until last night own owls."

Sirius opened his mouth, but Remus spoke again before he could. "I couldn't jolly well send her my Patronus, could I, when I didn't know where she might be at any given time?"

"Can't imagine a girl as keen as Tonks wouldn't send you off with her minute-by-minute timetable."

She actually had not done, which was another aspect of their parting that Remus had over-analysed all week. Most probably, she had been in too much pain from her sprained ankle to think of it. Whatever it was, it didn't bear further deliberation, or conversation, now.

"Aurors' schedules change," said Remus.

Sirius' chair dropped onto all four legs, but his gaze was unwavering. He folded his arms across his thin chest, and though his face was gaunt, the eyes sunken in deep sockets, boyhood had not been entirely eroded from his features. Remus recognised that his old mate was gearing up for a staring match, which would last until he caved and admitted that of course Sirius, the voice of romantic experience (even though he'd never owned up to having had what could be considered a truly serious relationship with a woman, was right, and that his own feelings were illegitimate because he didn't act on reckless Gryffindor impulse. In the old days it mostly worked (and it was mostly to Sirius that Remus was indebted for the few dalliances he did have tucked under his belt).

But not today.

Remus returned the stare as he drank his Pumpkin Pop. Sirius didn't understand. He couldn't understand; there was too much he didn't know.

Whether Sirius realised this, and decided to let it go till he'd wormed more information out of Remus, or simply decided that the love lives of werewolves were boring, Remus couldn't guess; but Sirius shrugged and shifted his attention back to the spread on the table.

"What people?" He bit into a sandwich. "Who were you interviewing? Recruiting mission?"

Remus' tense shoulders relaxed -- though only slightly, as the situation changed from willingly withholding information to having no choice but to do so.

In fact his mission had not been recruitment so much as reconnaissance. A report from Rubeus Hagrid that Voldemort's spies were preying on the giant population's disenfranchisement from Wizarding society in order to gain their support had prompted concern in Dumbledore that the werewolves of Great Britain might also be targeted as pawns in the Dark Lord's army. What had been supposed to be a week-long trip for Remus had stretched to ten days of gallivanting up and down the British Isles making contact with known werewolves or the families of known werewolves -- information the Order had obtained from Werewolf Registry files filched by Sturgis Podmore, who had worked in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures before his arrest and sentence to six months in Azkaban. Remus' objective had been to gauge political unrest instigated by Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation and to ascertain whether any of Voldemort's followers had come calling.

Having had a number of doors slammed in his face, Remus wasn't at all sure of his success. Then again, having a few vituperative epithets hurled at him, along with being blamed for the sorry state werewolves were in by meddling in Wizarding affairs, made it seem likely that someone had been talking to them, and it wasn't other werewolves, as they were a scattered all over in no semblance of a pack.

And yet pack was the term that had fallen from the lips of a few who were willing to talk, and had put an ice in the pit of his belly which had yet to thaw.

"If I told you," said Remus lightly, for Sirius' benefit, though his current mood hung on him like a heavy winter cloak, "I'd have to Obliviate you."

Returning to his seat across from Sirius, Remus turned it round to sit backwards upon it, and, plonking his Pumpkin Pop can on the table, took another handful of salt and vinegar crisps.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot, but first I've got to give my report to Dumbledore." He swallowed, then gave a small smile. "You see? Tonks isn't the only person I haven't spoken to."

"Well then," said Sirius, "I'm honoured that you've spoken to me first. Especially as you've not told me a bloody thing."

"Don't do this."

"I'm not doing anything. Seems to be the thing around here."

"You know I'll tell you as soon as I can."

"Oh -- that's why you haven't told me what's wrong between you and Tonks, is it?"

Remus gave a grunt of exasperation. "Nothing's--"

"Hippogriff shit!"

Sirius brought his fist down -- on his bag of crisps, which had a rather less emphatic effect than Remus reckoned he would have liked.

Not dissuaded by the pitiful crunch, however, Sirius went on, "Eleven days ago you took her out and came back well before midnight looking like your ball gown had been turned into rags--"

"Rags would be just about right for me, wouldn't it?"

"--and now instead of rushing off to wherever the hell she is and snogging her senseless, you're making half-arsed attempts at contacting her. What's up? Did you row?"

Remus' eyes flicked downward, and he couldn't stop his fingers wandering up to tug at the back of his hair in a telltale gesture. "No. Not precisely."

"Then what the bloody hell happened on that Merlin-damned date?"

For a long time, Remus stared steadfastly at the dull, scratched back of the chair as the scenes that had replayed over and over in his mind for the past week and a half, as vividly as if he were viewing them in a Pensieve, once more came to life in his memory. Some made his pulse quicken, and his lips quirk in the faintest of smiles -- Tonks...dressed to the nines for him (sweet Merlin, thoseboots!)...declaring Romulus Lupin must have been a great wizard by virtue of being his grandfather...making him feel comfortable enough for him to speak of things he'd never had anyone to talk to about...declaring, her small hands balling into fists, that his civil rights were as much a part of her mission in the Order as defeating Voldemort...himself, kissing her and calling her his pink champion...

If only the night had consisted solely of those moments.

But it had not, he thought, his shoulders rounding with his sigh.

The memories of those other parts made his face burn.

"Moony?" Sirius' voice was softer.

Remus looked up, but just as so many times on that date with Tonks he'd found himself unable to look her in the eye, he couldn't bring his gaze any higher than Sirius' chin. Catching a burnt orange hue in his peripherary, Remus shifted his gaze to the partly-drunk tumbler of fermented pumpkin juice in front of Sirius. Suddenly the homemade wine didn't seem so appalling. He tossed back the remainder of his own glass, and it gave him the courage to face Sirius.

"Rosmerta was surprised to see me in her pub, my presence very nearly cost her a few customers, and werewolves, it turns out, are not welcome at Zonko's. Of course," he went on, pouring himself another drink, "You'll remember that I always feared this would be the case if Mr. Zonko knew what I am."

"You've got to be bloody joking me," said Sirius in a low monotone, his fist crushing a handful of crisps. "Zonko--"

"Zonko didn't know I was with Tonks, welcomed her in, and told me the shop was closed."

Sirius' face had gone pale and deeply etched; he looked nearly as mad with fury as when they'd held Peter at wandpoint in the Shrieking Shack. "Tonks hexed that fucking bastard clown into fucking oblivion, I imagine?"

Remus' stomach twisted and did the same downward lurch it had that night, in dread that Tonks would do exactly that and, in an earnest desire to be his champion, unwittingly make his mortification all the worse. And yet when she had not done, the emotion within him had neither lifted nor loosened in relief.

"She looked rather like she was the one who'd been hexed," Remus said.

As Sirius looked now, mouth hanging open, his expression Confunded.

But only for a moment.

Shaking himself, Sirius said, "I don't believe that. You saw her at that Order meeting. She was ready to shove her gum up Snape's arise when he--"

"I think this struck rather a more sensitive emotional chord," Remus cut him off. "She was deeply upset -- there was no question."

"What did she say?"

It was with no small amount of relief that Remus watched Sirius' rage give way to a calmer, if rather agitated, curiosity. In the old days Sirius' temper had always exploded, but then that had been that, the end of his anger. Prolonged as Sirius' dark moods tended to be these days, Remus had feared that it was one more characteristic Azkaban had stolen from Padfoot.

Even so, Remus hesitated before satisfying his mate's interest. "Nothing."

"She had to have said something, you said there was no question--"

"She fell down the front step." Remus ached inwardly as he pronounced the words. "She sprained her ankle."

"I'd probably have fallen down the front step if I'd been there, and I don't have Tonks' balance issues. All the money we spent in there as kids...We were Zonko's best customers!"

"Her distress was plain."

The legs of Sirius' chair screeched as he scooted back from the table, and the old table groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. "Well then, what did you say?"

"Me?"

"No, her other werewolf boyfriend who was kicked out of Zonko's."

"Notkicked, precisely--"

"Would it have been less humiliating if you had been?" Sirius cut him off, circling the table. "You had to have said something after that. I mean, when a girl's so upset for your sake that she sprains her ankle, I think everyone would agree it's your job to do the talking."

He paused at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for a response which Remus did not readily give. Gradually, as the silence prolonged, Sirius once more stared in what could only be disbelief, and rubbed his forehead as if he'd got a headache. Sirius didn't need to speak for Remus to feel like an inept youth (which Remus hated, because he defied anyone in his situation to have felt or acted or thought differently); but of course Sirius didn't stay silent.

"You didn't say anything? Why the hell not?"

"What the hell could I have said?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Sirius flung his arms out. "Maybe something to make her feel better?"

"But I didn't know how she felt, Padfoot, that's the thing. She didn't say anything, either, and it's not like her."

Remus ran his hands over his unshaven face, then raked his fingers back through his hair, tugging at the roots to relieve the sudden pounding pressure in his temples.

"It's not at all like her," he repeated, more quietly. "Tonks always talks about everything, and up till that point we'd been particularly open..."

He sighed and stood. He turned the chair the right way around, but did not sit. He remained where he stood, gripping the back.

"I have to believe that if she were upset by what happened, she would have spoken about it. But as she didn't..."

The sentence trailed away into a calm silence, the crackle of Sirius' impatience and irritation having dissipated from the musty air of the kitchen.

"As she didn't?" Sirius prompted, gently.

Remus looked up. "I can only conclude that she realised what it means to be with me, and decided she's had quite enough."

Though he'd been thinking it, fearing it all week, saying it aloud brought a sad reality of such weight that he could not stand under it. He fumbled onto his chair under Sirius' shrewd gaze.

"She was here every day," said Sirius.

Remus was startled, not so much by the news as that he wasn't getting one of his mate's scathing lectures.

"Asking if I'd heard from you," Sirius went on. "It was heartbreaking, those big dark eyes of hers bloodshot like she'd sat up all night waiting for your owl, shining with hope. Every time I told her no, those jaunty pink spikes drooped and went brown at the roots. I'm not joking," he stopped Remus from speaking when he opened his mouth. "That girl thinks you hung the moon."

"That certainly would be ironic, wouldn't it?"

"Don't." There was the familiar, superior edge in Sirius' voice.

"Don't try to see the humour in a hopelessly un-funny situation?" Remus said.

"Don't deflect with jokes just because you feel guilty."

"She didn't owl me, and she was in the perfect position to."

The immaturity in his own voice made Remus cringe and, as Sirius scoffed at him, he stepped back from the conversation to self-evaluate.

Sirius was right. Remus did feel guilty. He'd patted himself on the back for opening up to Tonks, but when he'd really been put to the test, he'd failed, miserably. Even if he wasn't quite convinced that Tonks hadn't been put off by seeing what a social outcast he really was, he knew he ought to have given her a chance to tell him so instead of putting her in the awkward position of having to ponder a way to let him down gently after he got back from a long and difficult assignment.

Of course, this way, with him having broken what was as good as a promise to write her, it would be within her rights to let him go un-gently, which might solve that problem, as well.

Getting up again, Remus said, "I'll write to her now."

But Sirius cast a spell that blocked off the staircase with an iron door that most definitely wasn't part of the original architecture of the townhouse. Another flick of his wand made a fire leap to life in the grate. A third prodded Remus toward the fireplace.

"You're way past owling, mate," Sirius said. "Only Flooing will do."

A magical shove had Remus dropping to his knees on the floor before the hearth. The tin of Floo Powder levitated down to him, opened, and before Remus could reach his own fingers into it, a pinch flew into the flames as Sirius bellowed Tonks' direction.

As if finding himself forcibly Flooing, and the spinning of his head through the Floo Network, weren't dizzying enough, Remus' thoughts bashed pell-mell through his head: what in Merlin's name was he going to say to Tonks? It seemed unlikely that 'Hello, I'm sorry I didn't try harder to contact you all week, but because I'm such a poor communicator in general, I was afraid you were going to break up with me, and I just couldn't take it while I was doing work for Dumbledore that only served to remind me of just how much better than me you could do' would make their situation less awkward.

And was Sirius planning to stand there over his shoulder? If Tonks did, by some miracle, have a shred of attraction left for him, it would be destroyed by the revelation that after all his other communication blunders, he was only calling her now at wandpoint. Girls at school, and in his youth, might have found that sort of thing endearing, but Tonks knew he suffered from something much darker than boyish bashfulness.

Remus needn't have worried; his spinning head emerged in a cold fireplace in a dark, silent flat.

"Tonks?" he said, even though he was sure that if she were home now, she would be sitting right across from the fireplace on her squashy red sofa, waiting for him to Floo. "Dora? It's Remus."

In the greenish light of the flames, he could just make out Tonks' lounge. It was tidier than usual, free of the usual clutter of dirty dishes, Butterbeer bottles, Pumpkin Pop cans, and chocolate wrappers littering the coffee table, or a trail of dirty clothes and shoes trailing from the front door to the bedroom. The housekeeping, combined with that unique musty smell of an unlived-in house, told Remus that she hadn't been much at home during his absence.

But why not tonight, knowing that he planned to return to London? His Tonks, on getting last night's owl, would have found some way to be free tonight, and opened her arms to him when he opened the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

That was, if she had ever been his Tonks at all.

He withdrew his head from the flames.

"She's not there," he said, sliding his fingers through his thick hair to flick the ash out as he cast a wary glance over his shoulder at Sirius, who he half-expected to push him back through the Floo into Tonks' flat.

But Sirius merely stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets and leant against the mantel. "Probably better to speak to her in person, anyway."

Remus was nodding, when Sirius added, "Pop in and surprise her at work with flowers or something daft for her desk. A bobbing head doll or something to make her laugh. Have they got Weird Sisters ones?"

With the exception of the very disturbing image that was planted in his mind of a great hairy punk rocker's head wobbling on a disproportionate grunge-clad body, even Remus couldn't deny that Sirius' suggestion sounded reasonable, an ideal boyfriend thing to do.

Assuming, of course, that Tonks still thought of him as such.

He didn't relish the idea of being kicked out of the Auror office if she didn't. The Aurors, he imagined, would not be as polite as Zonko.

"If you'd seen her this week, mate," said Sirius, clapping Remus' shoulder, a sympathetic look in his eye as if he'd read his thoughts, "you wouldn't worry about her reaction. Well--" He sniggered. "She might hex your sorry arse for being a sodding prat and not sending her a single love note -- but she'll be more than happy to let you make it up to her. Accio Cauldron Cake," he said abruptly, flicking his wand at the larder. He crammed the cake, whole, into his mouth, and didn't bother to swallow, or even chew, before continuing, "Aurvision wone ahv see afing lih i."

"Are you trying to say that the Auror Division won't have seen anything like Tonks' reaction to a surprise visit from me?"

Sirius nodded.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Every lover needs a healthy dose of fear in him." Sirius Summoned another Cauldron Cake from the larder. "Want one?"

"Thank you, no." Remus stood. "Seeing it half-chewed in your mouth rather put me off the idea. Now, what do you say to a game of Exploding Snape?" He took their favourite customised deck from their schooldays out of a drawer. "And I think our Jokers ought to be modelled after one Yorick Zonko..."

A/N: I so appreciate everyone who has read this update even though it's not a completely new R/T story. If you take a moment to let me know what you think of it, I'll give everyone dinner with Remus and/or Sirius, along with a plate full of your favorite sandwiches and potato chips. Homemade pumpkin wine is, of course, optional. ;)