Warnings for language and sex, though nothing major. Hope you enjoy.

#JustWerewolfThings

July

"You. In here. Now," growls Mad-Eye, prodding Tonks into the scullery and shutting the door behind them. She winces, because Mad-Eye only addresses people as "you" if he's cross with them.

She tries to make light of his abruptness. "I'm flattered by your interest, but you're not my type,"

"Lupin," he states, folding his arms.

She wasn't expecting that. "What about him?"

"Don't play stupid with me, you're not stupid," Mad-Eye says impatiently.

"No, I just have no idea what you're on about," Tonks retorts.

"Show me your hand,"

Tonks huffs and holds both her palms up for inspection. There's a plaster peeling from her left-hand index finger where she'd cut it on one of the kitchen racks. Mad-Eye takes Tonks' hand in his and rips off the plaster. Hard.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Lupin's still around and you're going to go out there and speak to him," Mad-Eye orders.

"Why?"

"I saw that with the plaster earlier. He was trying to help you, but you wouldn't let him because of the bleeding,"

Damn that magical eye, Tonks groans inwardly.

"He won't start trying to eat you because he sniffs a drop of blood," Mad-Eye snipes, "Any stupid suspicions you've got in your head about werewolves, you need to forget about. He's as human as the rest of us,"

"Technically not quite," she can't resist pointing out.

"Technically my arse. You've heard that werewolves like kids, I suppose. Does he look like he's going to bite any of the Weasley brats?"

"No," she admits.

"No. So if I catch you looking at him funny or not wanting him to see blood or dousing yourself in mercury on your way into this house, I'll have Kingsley put you in charge of his paperwork backlog for the rest of the year," Mad-Eye threatens.

"Okay, I get it," Tonks huffs. She hates it when Mad-Eye gets all don't-mess-with-me on her, "I've only met, you know, savage werewolves before. Haven't sat down to dinner with one,"

"Get used to it," Mad-Eye snarls. He crumples the plaster and barges back through the door, leaving Tonks standing in the scullery alone.


August

"What d'you need doing, Molly?" Tonks chirps, following Mrs Weasley into the kitchen. Molly Weasley is brilliant. She's mum to everyone in the Order, she makes awesome cakes, and she winds Sirius up something rotten. Kingsley insists that their rivalry isn't anything to be laughed at, but Tonks finds it amusing, especially as Sirius always needs taking down a peg or two. Plenty has changed since he went to Azkaban, but that hasn't.

"Could you put these in an arrangement on the table," Molly suggests, pointing to a tray of cutlery, "We're not having a sit-down meal tonight,"

"Right,"

"And be careful, Tonks," warns Molly, "This is Sirius' best family silverware,"

"You know he won't care about that," Tonks points out, as Mrs Weasley hands her the tray. It's creaky and splintery, and Tonks curls her fingers so that she's carrying the tray on her knuckles instead of her palms.

"He might not but my father would have bent his broomstick to see this sort of thing," Molly says shortly.

"I thought your dad was one of us?"

"One of what?"

"A Black,"

Molly doesn't say anything and busies herself checking on the onions. Tonks suspects she might have put her foot in her mouth, so changes the subject:"Still, tonight deserves best silverware, doesn't it? You must be chuffed about Ron getting prefect,"

"Good news at last," Molly beams, "I always knew he had it in him. He seemed surprised about it, he never expects anything. He's such a sweet boy. He's used to playing second-fiddle to Harry and Hermione and he doesn't want to show off in front of them, but I know he's proud of himself. He deserves it..."

She bustles back into the kitchen, chuntering away merrily about her youngest son.

Tonks sets a couple of knives down on the table, then the forks beside them, wondering what sort of "arrangement" cutlery should go in for a party. It'll be a relief not to be all crammed in round the dinner table, but artistic table-design isn't her forte.

"Hello," says a familiar deep voice from the door way. Kingsley's there, with Sirius and Remus behind him.

"Ron and Hermione prefects, that's excellent news," smiles Remus, glancing up at the banner above the table. Kingsley, however, frowns. Sirius' lip curls disgruntledly.

"Say that again when Molly's in earshot, she'll kiss your feet," Tonks recommends.

"I'd rather not," sighs Sirius. He turns and stalks back through the door. Kingsley and Remus grimace at each other.

"What's up with him?" Tonks asks. She'd expected Sirius to be pleased about the party and excited for Ron and Hermione. And he'll have a laugh at Molly's hysterics.

"He's struggling with everybody going back to school tomorrow," Remus explains, "Especially Harry. I'll talk to him,"

He goes to follow Sirius out of the room, but Kingsley interrupts, "You're always dealing with him, Remus. Let me,"

Remus considers, then nods in acquiesce.

"See you later," Kingsley says, and leaves through the door. Remus puts his hands in his pockets and a silence settles. Tonks has been trying to be nice to him after the blood incident a few weeks ago. He's always got a book on him, so she asks him what it is, or how he's doing today. She badgers him for gossip about Sirius when he was younger. It turns out that Remus is quite a laugh when you get to know him; he's witty and self-deprecating, the kids all like him and he doesn't bang on about The Last Time like the other first-Order members do. Tonks is starting to see him less as The Werewolf Man and more as just Remus. When they're alone, however, it becomes the elephant in the room. She thinks he thinks she's thinking about it, and then she is thinking about it. Alone together with only the dining table between them, Tonks can't help remember that last week Remus had scabs on his hands and a graze on his cheek. Everybody had determinedly ignored his injuries, but Tonks couldn't resist a second glance at his cut hands, and Remus had caught her looking. In the moment their eyes had met she'd wanted to splutter and apology, but everybody else was talking, and there was more resignation than hurt in Remus' expression. As if he was thinking, of course.

Tonks suspects he might be remembering it now so she announces loudly, "Help me out, will you? I'm meant to be arranging this artistically,"

"How?" Remus asks.

"Dunno, that's the problem. How can knives be artistic?"

"Have you thought of displaying them in something?"

"In what?"

"There's lots of jars and vases here," he suggests. It doesn't escape Tonks' notice that the says 'we'. That's nice, like they're in this artistic-cutlery-placement mission together.

"Hold on," Remus says, disappearing through the door. Tonks waits for a minute until he returns, with a small jar in each hand and one under his arm. Remus puts them down on the table beside her, takes a handful of cutlery from the tray and plunges it into the vase.

"That's better, isn't it?" he asks, holding up the jar. It's hardly beautiful but it's better than anything Tonks could have come up with and it looks a bit modern-arty. Rustic, her mum might say.

"Yeah, actually," she admits, jamming another handful of knives and forks into the second vase, and rattling it to fit them in. "Sirius didn't seem too happy about Ron and Hermione getting prefect," she observes aloud.

"He's concerned about Harry,"

"That's all anybody does round here isn't it, be concerned about Harry," Tonks remarks.

It comes out too bitter because Remus asks, "Don't you like him?" and sounds mildly insulted.

"I didn't mean that," Tonks replies hurriedly, "Of course I like him,"

Harry's in an awkward-teenage-boy phase, but he's fun, he's got a dry sense of humour and he can take a joke.

"I'm just saying," she continues, "Maybe having everybody worried about him isn't doing him any favours,"

Remus leans his back against the table and sighs. "Perhaps not. I understand why Dumbledore would make Ron prefect instead of Harry, but I can see the argument that the other two having something Harry doesn't might make him unsure of himself, which isn't what he needs at the moment. The three of them are extremely close," he adds. Remus is good at reading people like this, she's noticed. Intuitive. Caring.

"Yeah, maybe," Tonks shrugs, "But I'm sure he'll be fine. Might be good for him to have normal teenage stuff to worry about for once. Anyway, where's the fun in being a prefect?"

"You can use the nice bathrooms," Remus suggests, adjusting one of the forks in the vase, "And you can keep the items you confiscate,"

"You were one, then?"

"Yes. I had about fifteen Flying Frisbees by the end of fifth year,"

"Speaking of confiscating, don't let Mundungus know that this is Sirius' best silver," Tonks recommends. As the last word leaves her mouth, a terrible thought rams into her brain.

"Silver! I- you- put it down now!"

"What?" asks Remus.

Tonks leans over to bat his hand away from the cutlery in the vase. "I'm sorry, I totally didn't realise-"

She rushes round the table to examine his hand, unfolding his fingers with hers and gabbling, "I've got Dittany in my robe pocket if you need-"

"Tonks," Remus interrupts, "What are you talking about?"

"It's silver. You can't touch it, can you? I'm so sorry,"

Remus pulls his hand out of her grasp, smiles softly, picks up the fork again and runs the side of it over his palms and wrists. He touches it to his face then mimes stabbing himself in the heart.

"It's fine. See? Perfectly fine," he assures her.

Tonks tries not to look overly relieved. Was that panic stupid? "Oh," she mutters, "Sorry for scaring you,"

"That's alright. Thank you for your concern,"

She suspects for a moment that Remus might be being sarcastic, but he's still smiling softly at her so she isn't sure. Sometimes he's impossible to work out.

"That's an old wives' tale, then?" she clarifies.

"Yes. There's plenty of rumours about werewolves," Remus says, picking up the cutlery jar Tonks knocked over when she ran around the table, "Very few of them are true, you know".


November

"Thanks Dawlish. Fantastic work, ten points to Gryffindor for that," Tonks huffs, crawling out of the ditch behind the older Auror.

"Don't you two start," Glossop snaps at them, "We're in enough shit, literally, as it is, without you two bickering,"

Glossop shoves her hands in her pockets and watches as Tonks hauls herself back onto the bank. Dawlish attempts to wipe cowpat off his sleeve with the bottom of his robe and then, grimacing, decides against it. Tonks folds her arms tightly and doesn't look at him.

"We'd best head back," Glossop announces.

"Proudfoot is going to kill us," says Tonks through gritted teeth.

"She's already cross with me about that Potion catastrophe with Emnisovic last week," sighs Dawlish.

"You know, you don't help yourself," Tonks tells him.

"Not all of us are sucking off Mad-Eye Moody, so we have to fix our own messes," Dawlish spits.

She grabs him by his collar. "What did you just say?"

Glossop rolls her eyes. "Dawlish, how old are you, twelve? And Tonks, let go of him,"

With a glare, Tonks releases her grip on Dawlish's collar. He's always been an idiot but he's driving her nuts at the moment. He's sniggers about what a crackpot Dumbledore is and how Harry Potter is deranged. As if Dawlish knows anything about it, Tonks thinks irritably.

The three of them Apparate back to the Ministry and trudge upstairs to the Auror office. Tonks kneels down to ruffle the ears of the porcupine statue outside. After a few seconds he wriggles into life, reaches round to shove his paw into his spines, and withdraws the key. After the first door there's another, guarded by a portrait who'll only open the door if given an accurate floor-plan of the Auror office. Glossop sketches one hurriedly, and after a moment's deliberation the portrait lets them through. The final door requires a secret knock, which Dawlish bangs out on the wood.

"This is going to be embarrassing," he sighs unnecessarily as the door swings open.

Everyone in the room turns to gape at the three Aurors in the doorway, muddied and damp and smelling of animal excrement.

"What happened to you?" giggles Savage, while Emnisovic drawls, "Look what the cat dragged in,"

Tonks glowers at them. "Don't ask,"

Before anybody can say another word, Thetis Proudfoot appears out of her office door. Tonks winces. As if this couldn't get any worse.

"What's all this?" Proudfoot asks the room. Her eyes narrow as she catches sigh of Tonks, Dawlish and Glossop.

"I can explain-" Dawlish pipes up, but Proudfoot cuts him off.

"I take it this afternoon's assignment was successful," she says coldly.

"We made progress," Tonks insists. This fails to thaw Proudfoot's displeasure.

"I'll give you thirty seconds to clean yourselves up and then I want you in here," she orders, pointing inside her office in a way which makes it clear that this isn't going to be an comfortable conversation. Silently, Tonks, Glossop and Dawlish perform tergeo spells on themselves, making the mud seep away into nothingness.

"Glossop, catch," says Emnisovic, tossing a small bottle of perfume at them. Glossop spritzes herself, then hands it to Tonks who does the same. It isn't much, but it might improve the smell.

"Would you like some?" she asks Dawlish sweetly.

"No," he scowls.

"In here," Proudfoot interrupts, pointing through her office door. Tonks tries to catch Glossop's eye but Glossop stares straight ahead, chin thrust up defiantly. She leads the way into the office but before Tonks and Dawlish can follow, Kingsley Shacklebolt appears.

"Apologies, I need to borrow Tonks, please," he announces. Kingsley doesn't have a hasty or urgent setting, but his slightly-more-hurried-than-usual tone makes it clear that this is important. Everybody turns around to face him.

"Does Mad-Eye need something handling?" Dawlish asks Kingsley innocently. Tonks ignores him.

"It's important," Kingsley adds, though still in the same cool tone.

Proudfoot considers for a moment, then gives Tonks a nod and says "Dismissed,"

Kingsley leads the way out of the office. Tonks knows him well enough not to say anything until they're in the secluded corner where Kingsley's Sirius-hunting maps and notes lay scattered over desks, and pinned to the wall. Kingsley pulls the wheeled blackboard in front of them so it's safe to talk without being observed. The blackboard's got a silencing charm around it to avoid eavesdroppers. It's their usual in-office spot for any Order discussions.

"Lifesaver. We were about to get a right bollocking," Tonks grins at him.

Kingsley remains business-like. "We're needed at Grimmauld. Urgent," he explains.

Tonks had expected that. "What's happened?"

"I don't know. Sturgis, Remus, Hestia and Bill are coming too, and Mundungus if we're lucky,"

"Right," says Tonks, then adds hastily, "Can I pop home and have a shower then before we go?"

"Sorry, there's not time,"

"I'll be five minutes," she promises.

"You look fine. Most of the mud's gone," Kingsley says, smiling reassuringly (his reassuring smile, bless him, is more awkward than consoling).

"But I reek," Tonks whines...and Remus is going to be there. Remus who, in the last couple of weeks, she's started think of as kind of cute. He's not conventionally or even noticeably handsome, but he's quite pretty if you look closely. She has been looking closely. She likes Remus' curly hair and his gentle smile. She likes the patches on his clothes and the way he folds his shirt cuffs over the sleeves of his jumper. A few days ago Tonks bumped into him on the back porch at Grimmauld and he made her cackle with laughter, although now she can't remember what he said that was so funny. She can't quite work him out, which makes him more fascinating. But more pressing now is the fact that Sirius mentioned a while ago that being a werewolf means Remus has an excellent sense of smell. So no way is Tonks going to turn up stinking of shit. If she thinks too much about the werewolf thing Remus does seem less cute, but the Tonks doesn't think of it much nowadays. Nobody else in the Order mentions it much, and they get a stern glare from Sirius if they do (Remus' odd-couple act with Sirius is cute too. They're very protective of each other).

"Five minutes," Tonks pleads.

Kingsley glances at his silver watch, then back at her. Tonks knows Kingsley well enough to know that morphing her eyes huge and blue and watery won't help her case. Come on Kingsley, she wills, We're mates. You know Mad-Eye would make me to go this meeting stinking. You don't want to be like that, do you? It's going to be mortifying if Remus sees her like this. This stupid accident would never happen to him. He's too cool and controlled. He's also too controlled and cool for daft crushes like this, and he's older, and Tonks suspects he's beating for the other team anyway, and even if he isn't he's wouldn't be interested in her. So she knows it's all silly, but she still doesn't want to make an idiot on herself in front of him.

"Fine. I'll tell them we're held up here," Kingsley relents.

Tonks beams. "I owe you one Kingsley. You're a legend,"

Maybe she'll regret in a few weeks, when this thing for Remus has burnt out and she's left covering Kingsley's Sirius-hunting work on a boring Friday evening. But that's not important at the moment. What's important is that she has to get home and get cleaned up, and she's seeing Remus.

"So they tell me. I'll see you in the Atrium in five minutes, no later," Kingsley adds.

Tonks gives him a thumbs-up him, and Apparates straight into her shower.


January

"I'm worried about him," Molly announces.

"He'll come round," Remus answers patiently, "He's missing Harry,"

"Exactly. You know how he likes to show off to him, Remus. Aren't you concerned he's going to do something rash?"

Remus half-smiles. "I'm always concerned he's going to do something rash,"

"And the drinking," Molly sighs, "He's getting as bad as Mundungus,"

"It's not that much," Tonks protests, "It's not like he's a bottle down before breakfast,"

Sirius likes a drink but everyone's blowing it way out of proportion. Poor bastard's hardly got anything else to do, has he? He's upstairs right now, brooding, while Tonks, Molly, Remus and Emmeline chat around the kitchen table. Tonks is trying not to look at Remus too often, but her eyes aren't co-operating and insist on repeatedly flicking towards him.

"I agree with Tonks. Sirius' drinking habits aren't our most pressing concern at the moment," Remus corroborates.

"Realistically there's little we can do. We all know the reasons why he has to stay here. It's not ideal for anybody, but that's the situation so we'll all have to live with it, Sirius included," Emmeline continues briskly.

"Kingsley's telling the Ministry there's been a sighting in Nicaragua," Tonks adds. Mad-Eye says she gets too much satisfaction out of seeing Kingsley lie to the Ministry, but Tonks reckons that one in the eye for Fudge is always something to smile about.

Molly glances at the clock. "When are you two leaving?"

"Ten past," Remus tells her. The Order are observing the Avery family's house nightly. Tonight it's Remus and Emmeline on duty. Tonks, whose guarding the Prophecy this evening, can't help but be jealous that Emmeline's getting to spend all evening with Remus, while she's stuck creeping around the Department of Mysteries. Last week Tonks got put on the Avery house watch with Remus and they had a long, fascinating talk, like they always do together, especially in their increasingly frequent chats on Grimmauld Place back porch. She had got close, that night at the Averys, to finally telling him. To saying, "I'm crazy about you and you're the most brilliant person I know and would you mind awfully if I said I wanted to kiss you". She'd thought at first that her infatuation towards him would fade away, but it didn't. It got stronger and more powerful. It happened so fast, and it isn't a crush anymore because talking to him, looking at him, even thinking about him feels so good. She thinks she might be falling in love.

"What about you, Tonks?" Emmeline asks.

Auror training ensures that Tonks doesn't jump at the sudden distraction. "Half eight, so not for ages," she replies.

"I don't know how you do it, dear, a ten-hour day and night duty in the evening," Molly says.

Tonks shrugs. "Coffee,"

Everybody chuckles and she feels a prickle of pride that she's managed to make Remus laugh, like the one she felt a moment ago when he said he agreed with her about Sirius' boozing.

"Anyway, when we're done we go home to bed, not to seven kids. You're the hardest worker in the Order," adds Emmeline.

"It's not much now they're all at school," Molly says modestly.

"I've seen first-hand how many owls you get about the twins. It's full-time job just dealing with that," jokes Remus (Tonks reckons he's joking).

"You forget I was at school with your lot, Remus. James and Sirius probably had an owl sent home every day!" laughs Emmeline (she's older than Sirius and Remus but younger than Mum and Dad. Even if Tonks hadn't known that she'd been Head Girl she'd have been able to tell from her air of authority and efficiency). Mentioning Sirius, though, sets Molly back to her fretting.

"Don't you suspect that he hasn't grown out of that?" she asks, "He's imaging he's re-living his teenage years through Harry?"

Remus stops grinning. "He's bored. With the greatest respect, Molly, I don't think he needs a psychiatric assessment,"

Because Remus is usually very measured, when he does come out with something like that people listen. Tonks can't help but note that it's dead attractive. It works, too, because Molly turns pink, drops her analysis of Sirius' mental state and blusters on: "What he does need is a shave. He's starting to look bedraggled,"

"And it covers up his gorgeous Black cheekbones," adds Emmeline, and when Molly gives her a funny look she shrugs, "You can't deny he's beautiful,"

He always has been. Azkaban's made him gaunt and pale but there's no denying that Sirius is still extraordinarily goodlooking. And he's not over the hill either. He's the same age as Remus, which Tonks keeps trying to convince herself isn't that old. If the situation was different, Sirius could be out dating and enjoying himself putting those cheekbones to good use. Tonks is sure she can remember being a little kid and hearing Mum reprimanding Sirius for sleeping around, and Sirius scoffing that he was only having fun and not everyone married their Hogwarts sweetheart at nineteen. Tonks can picture young, breezy Sirius now, kicking his feet up on their kitchen table and rolling his eyes at her mother. He'd had a beard back then, she remembers.

"He used to wear his beard like that before he went to prison," Tonks murmurs.

"Yes, he did," chimes in Remus unexpectedly. He meets her eye with that small, melancholy smile, the smile that makes her heart lurch. Sirius and his imprisonment connects her and Remus in a strange and miserable way. But Remus makes her feel less bewildered and angry about it all. It's good to have someone to talk to about it who isn't her mother (Mum's never been easy to talk to about Sirius). Tonks hopes that she helps Remus in the same way, because he had nobody to talk to the whole time Sirius was in Azkaban. Sometimes she's sure that she is helping him and that he's feeling this connection too, and perhaps he's feeling other things as well...a couple of times she's caught Remus looking at her longer than people usually look at one another, and then there's those chats on the back porch when it's cold outside and he could be doing anything else but he's outside talking to her….

Molly and Emmeline are here at the kitchen table but they don't seem important. Tonks is caught in his gentle smile. His eyes are very, very kind. Sirius may cheekbones and eyelashes and a penchant for tight trousers, but he doesn't have those eyes. He doesn't have those adorable sticking-out ears or that throaty voice. He doesn't have Remus' patience, thoughtfulness and grace.

"Did you, back then? Have a beard I mean," Tonks mumbles. Were you as handsome then as you are now? Tell me about you. I want to more. I want to know everything.

Remus double-takes. "No,"

Oh. Right. Tonks hadn't really cared about the answer but she's surprised at the bluntness of it. No. There's two options now, she supposes: change topic, or plough on. And she's never exactly been one to doge the subject.

"You'd look good," she tells him, meeting his eye. She can feel herself getting hot, and wonders how people who can't change their faces possibly survive without being able to hide blushes.

When Remus replies, his voice is steady. "I don't like the feel of hair on my face,"

The admission hangs in the air for a moment. Remus' eyes flick away from her, and before Tonks can come up with a mortified reply, Molly speaks:

"You're right Remus, it's scruffy. Charlie's grown one now and Bill probably will now he's back from Egypt. I don't see what the fuss is all about. It's five past six, you two had better get going," she adds.

"Good idea. Come on, Remus," Emmeline agrees, pushing her chair back getting to her feet. She unhooks her cloak from the back of the kitchen door and swings it around her shoulders.

Remus stands up, pulls on his battered beige overcoat and pockets the bundle of sandwiches Molly left on the table for them.

"Thanks for these," he adds.

"Not a problem, dear,"

Unexpectedly, he turns to Tonks. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Err. No, sorry. Friday, though," she mutters, taken aback by the question and trying not to trip over her words under his gaze. She isn't sure if she's imagining the slight disappointment on his face.

"I'll see you then," he murmurs, "I hope it's alright tonight,"

"Cool,"

"See you later, Tonks," adds Emmeline, "Bye Molly. Thanks again for the sandwiches,"

The two of them head out of the kitchen door. Tonks' unhelpful eyes again insist on lingering on Remus as he leaves, and for a few moments longer even once he and Emmeline have disappeared from sight.

Molly breaks the silence. "Are you in love with him?"

Tonks glances at her sharply and tries to resist rolling her eyes. Of course Molly knows. Mrs Weasley watches everybody and, bless her, she likes to be in on everybody's business. And Tonks' attraction to Remus is probably getting more obvious by the day.

"I'm not sure," she replies.

Molly smiles broadly. "What does it feel like?"

"I dunno," Tonks lies. Molly's great, but she'll get dead soppy if Tonks tells her how good being near Remus is and how powerless and protective he makes her feel. And no way can she talk to Molly about the stuff she thinks about him at night, picturing those eyes.

"He's a very nice man," Molly declares, glowing, "When are you going to tell him?"

"Don't know that either. Sirius is convinced he likes me back, and sometimes I reckon that he's right. But then I think I'm kidding myself. We've got a good working relationship and I can't risk that,"

"I'd believe you if you hadn't just gazed and him and told him he'd look good with a beard,"

Tonks feels herself blush. "Yeah and put my foot in it didn't it? I'm keep doing that with him, I've never had this sort of...it's never been this complicated with other blokes,"

It's never been this complicated or unexpected or meaningful with anybody else. She's never felt this happy thinking about anybody else. Is that how you know you're in love?

"For once I agree with Sirius," says Molly.

"Blimey,"

"I believe Remus does have feelings for you, but if I know him I know that he won't want to presume anything. I imagine he's shy when it comes to that, so you're going to have to tell him straight,"

"Hmm. Yeah," Tonks nods. She'd stopped listening at "he does have feelings for you". Really? Could he? Does he? Molly's a soppy old romantic, but it's more believable coming from her than from Sirius.

"I'll keep quiet about it to everybody else while you're still working it out," Molly whispers knowingly. She's still glowing.

"Cheers," says Tonks and laughs when Molly, getting up to put the kettle on, glances round to give her a very un-Molly Weasley-ish wink.


March

The bad news is that there isn't enough evidence to hold the suspect overnight, which means releasing him on bail this evening so more work to do when he's brought in for questioning next week. The good news is that it means there's no need to stay until five o'clock, so she can see Remus sooner.

It's been ten days now. Ten days since he first kissed her and she told him how she feels about him, and they'd kissed and talked and laughed, cuddled up on her sofa until late into the night. He's been over twice since for more of the same. It's undefined and strange, it feels innocent and sometimes awkward, and absolutely fantastic. Tonks keeps grinning to herself, so much that yesterday Dawlish asked if she'd drank Gigglewater. Tonight she's going to Remus' place for the first time.

"Don't get your hopes up," he'd told her with a sheepish smirk, but Tonks is excited to be in his house, his world. Besides, her flat's hardly the Ritz. Shutting her desk drawer and hurling her cloak on (it's a few days after the clock-change but the weather's still chilly), she waves goodbye to the rest of the Aurors, then hurries out of the office and down into the atrium. Finishing early means that there's no Floo queue, so she grabs a handful of powder, tosses it into the fire and steps in.

"Lawton Cottage, Derby,"

There's the familiar spin and soot, and then Tonks feels herself land in a new fireplace. It must be narrow because her elbows are bumping the sides.

"Wotcher. Remus?" she calls, peering out into the room. It's a small lounge with a sofa against one wall, a bookshelf by the window and a coffee table in between, all on top of the ugliest rug Tonks has ever set eyes on.

"Remus?"

A door squeaks open and he walks in. "Hello. Sorry, I didn't realise you'd be here so soon,"

He's wearing dark trousers and braces, and his green and white checked shirt with the top buttons undone. Remus' sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He's also not wearing shoes, which shouldn't be as odd as it is. Tonks doesn't reckon she's seen him in his socks before. He holds out a hand to step her out of the fireplace. Tonks ignores it and climbs out on her own.

"Had to release a suspect at twenty to five, so I got to leave after that," she explains, leaning up to peck Remus' cheek. He puts an arm around her shoulder to hold her there, and kisses her softly on the mouth.

"Hello," he says again, grinning.

She's smiling back like a besotted moron. "Hi,"

Remus gives her a squeeze, then lets her go and says, "Sorry it's a mess, I was just going to tidy up,"

There's a couple of mugs strewn about and a book left open on the coffee table, but it's hardly what Tonks would call a mess. She shrugs. "I've seen worse,"

Remus flicks his wand at the mugs and they bolt upright, dregs of tea disappearing. The rug, Tonks notices, is on top of floorboards not a carpet. There's a split in the coffee table wood.

"Make yourself at home," Remus says, in a rather forced voice, "D'you want to eat? Drink?"

"I'm alright, thanks,"

He picks up the book and slides it back into the bookshelf. The top four shelves are full of books, but the bottom, Tonks observes, contains LPs.

"Let's see your records," she says, kneeling to pulling a few out from the shelf. Celestina Warbeck, Sheer Heart Attack, Mahler, Elgar, Letitia Zabini Sings The Blues, ELO, Shostakovich Waltzes, Ruddigore...

"Go ahead," says Remus, sounding wearily amused, "Mock,"

"I wasn't going to mock!"

He looks at her sceptically. She finds herself melting under his gaze.

"Some of this is a decent, you know. Sheer Heart Attack is cool," Tonks insists, glancing away.

Remus kneels down beside her to examine the record.

"I suspect this might be Sirius', actually. Their release-date was always near his birthday, so I'd write to my mother to buy the record and send it to us so we could give it to him as a present. Although it looks like I borrowed this one from him and forgot to give it back,"

He smiles the sad smile that makes her stomach flip, and slides the record back on the shelf.

"Shostakovitch Waltzes," he reads, inspecting the next LP Tonks pulled out, "This is one of my favourites. Do you dance?"

"Violently, at great risk to those around me,"

"Will you, then?"

It takes Tonks a second to realise that he's asking her to dance, and another to realise that he's asking her seriously. "Err, okay,"

Remus reaches under the bookshelf and drags out a dusty record player. He takes the record out of its case, puts it onto the turntable and taps his wand to turn it on. The record crackles into life, playing out a bouncy, chirpy melody. Remus stands up, and this time Tonks does take his hand he holds out to her. He pulls her to her feet and into his arms in a loose ballroom hold, and sways her to the beat of the music.

"I'll probably step on your toes," she warns him.

"My toes have been through a lot," Remus shrugs, "Anyway, you're not wearing your construction boots today,"

She rolls her eyes. Bantering with him is always fun. "They're not construction boots,"

"Oh, they're destruction boots," he says with exaggerated realisation. Tonks laughs and lets him waltz her across the room. He's pretty good at this, actually, and he seems less skittish now than he was last week. Perhaps she should come over more often.

"Who taught you to dance?" she asks.

"Nobody," Remus shrugs, "It's not difficult if you can count to three,"

"Ah, that's where I'm going wrong. I get stuck after one and a half,"

"I knew there was a reason you failed Arithmancy,"

She giggles again and burrows her face into his itchy shirt, enjoying the feel and smell of him (his smell is the overly-clinical scent of carbolic soap, covered by the smell of tea). He slows down, wraps both his arms around her properly and drops a kiss to the top of her head.

After a pause, Tonks murmurs, "This is nice,"

"Mmm,"

"D'you know what, though?"

"What?"

She peels her face away from his shirt. "How come all this screechy violin stuff is fine, and you borrowed Sirius' Queen album, but all the music I like is too high and loud for your sensitive wolf-ears?"

She reaches up and flicks the edge of his ear.

He chuckles. "Many extremelycomplicated reasons. It'd take too long to explain,"

"I've got all evening," Tonks points out. Bantering is fun. Flirting is better.

"It'll take longer than that. I'll have to write you an essay,"

"An essay entitled I Pretend I Don't Like Any Music Made After 1985 Although Really I Just Can't Be Bothered To Listen To It,"

"No, entitled Why Can't They All Stop Screaming?"

"If you bothered to listen to any music I like maybe you'd realise it isn't all screaming,"

He kisses the top of her head again. "I don't think I'll take the risk".


April

Since Sirius "gave" them his dad's old study, Tonks has developed a habit of slipping notes into Remus' pockets asking him to meet her up there. The sneaking around just about satisfies Remus' insistence on discretion. Tonks, meanwhile, has always thought that her own parents' teenage relationship, creeping out of their dormitories to meet each other at night, was dead dramatic. Kissing Remus up against the sideboard in Orion Black's dusty old office doesn't quite have the glamour of Mum and Dad's moonlight meetings on the Astronomy Tower, but she'll take it. Right now they're crammed beside each other on the office armchair while Remus dollops slow, wet kisses down her jaw. He's more confident about this in Grimmauld than at home, and as the weeks go on he's getting less tentative. His shyness was cute at first; he was like a nervous teenager. The age thing hadn't seemed so weird when Remus looked so boyishly pleased and bamboozled every time they kissed. And Tonks would be lying if she claims that it isn't a turn-on to know that Remus hasn't let himself become involved with anybody for years, but that he wants her too much to resist. Moreover, she likes that, because it's been a while for him, she gets to help him find out how he likes to be kissed and touched and what feels good. She likes to make him feel good. And she likes that he needs prompting and showing how to touch her in return.

"You can bite me if you want," she murmurs, tilting her head to give him a better angle on her neck. Let me tell you what I want. Let me show you what women like. Although there's never going to be another woman if I have anything to say about it. It's good to know that this is one thing she's got over on him, because in so many ways Tonks feels powerless when it comes to all this. These feelings so intense they make her light-headed and tongue-tied and unable to concentrate when he's near. It's disorientating in the most addictive way. Remus being Remus, he probably doesn't know the effect he has on her. Thank Merlin she has the physical thing over on him, so she doesn't feel completely on the back foot.

Remus's mouth stops momentarily against her skin.

"No, thank you," he murmurs, as if she's offered him an extra helping of gravy that he doesn't quite fancy. You are odd, Remus, Tonks thinks fondly.

"Can you blow, then?" she suggests, "Really lightly where your mouth just was,"

Her neck's damp from his tongue, and when he blows across her skin it tingles deliciously. Tonks sighs, more theatrically then necessary because he needs encouragement like that. It works, because Remus blows down the other side of her neck, and then his hands go to either side of her face and he presses their mouths together. His kiss is tender and languid. Tonks is smiling, and she likes knowing he can feel it. He always makes her smile.

It's only the next day, reviling the scene pleasantly in her mind while sitting through a boring Auror Assessment, that Tonks realises with a jolt why he didn't want to bite her.


May

This is where they started: The back porch of Grimmauld Place, looking out at the gnarled garden while scuffing their feet in the leaves. That was back in Autumn. Its nearly Summer now. Remus looks beautiful, silhouetted in the dusk with his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed.

"Wotcher," she says.

His eyes flicker open and he smiles melancholically up at her (Tonks' stomach flips). "Hello,"

"Thought you seemed down. I brought you this," Tonks announces, holding out a mug of hot chocolate and a croissant. "Not sure how long that's been in the cupboard, so it might be stale," she adds. The apology is about croissant is a coded apology for disturbing him. He often likes to be left with his thoughts. He's sad, sometimes.

"Thank you," Remus says, taking the mug and the croissant. When Tonks doesn't move he adds, "You can stay if you like,"

She tries not to beam at the invitation, thinking that of course she'd like. She'd like to be with him all the time. Tonks sits down beside him and follows his gaze into the sky.

"There's Andromeda," Remus points out, indicating the curved pattern of stars in the darkening sky. He takes a big bite of the pastry.

"Mum always tried to show me where it was when I was a kid. You know what the Blacks are like with Astronomy,

"Sirius hated it,"

Yeah, Tonks thinks, of course he did. But instead she asks out loud, "So what are you looking at?"

"What do you think?" he asks passively, eyes flicking up to the quarter-moon glowing silver above them.

"Ah. Right,"

How could she not have known? The moon's constantly hanging over him. It's quite nice tonight, she thinks. There's silence for a long moment and then Remus says, "This is the worst part, you know. Waking crescent. Nearer to the full than the new, but not near enough to start preparing,"

"Is it bad, Remus? Even on Wolfsbane?"

He looks at her with a strange expression on his face. Tonks isn't sure if he's contemplating the answer or expecting her to add something. She waits.

"Not as bad," Remus says at last, "But pretty bad,"

He wipes the shards of pastry from his mouth, takes a sip of hot chocolate, and stares back up into the sky.


June

Between kisses, she feels him lift her up by the waist and carry her over to the stairs. He slips his arm under her knees, so he's carrying her like a bride. Tonks kicks her shoes off and shortens her legs a bit to help him out, wrapping both arms around his neck. She can smell the dark, fruity scent of red wine on him. Remus is a lovely drunk, all sweet and cuddly and the tiniest bit less hesitant. He falters on the battered stairs and giggles, and Tonks is laughing back louder, and he's telling her to shush.

"Remus, you live in the middle of flipping nowhere. Nobody's going to hear us,"

"There's mice in the skirting-boards. They might hear. They might think we're up to something," he adds in a dramatic whisper, words slurring slightly.

"Hmm," Tonks responds, staring hungrily at his bottom lip, "And what are we up to?"

Remus grins and carries her up the rest of the staircase. Tonks likes it when he does that because she's used to feeling really blokey in life, at work, with him, so it's nice when he treats her like an actual girl. He's so special, she's so lucky, and that isn't just the alcohol talking. She hears Remus kick open his bedroom door, and then he lays her on his bed (sometimes Tonks wishes he'd be rougher and toss her down, but he's always very tender), toes off his shoes and climbs on top of her. He's all angles and bony joints, and his weight feels comfortable and sexy. Remus winks and lowers his mouth to hers, and Tonks keeps her eyes open to watch him kiss her, to gaze at his eyelashes and his jaw and the way his cheek's moving. He's dead handsome. Absolute knock-out, if only he realised it.

"You're gorgeous," she murmurs when his mouth hovers away, "You're so fucking sexy,"

His hips jerk against her. "Mind your language,"

Drunk Remus gets a little cocky like that; he has a swagger to him that he never has sober. God, it's attractive.

Tonks grins up at him. "Fuck off,"

He tips his head back as he laughs, then flops onto his side next to her and pulls her close, groping for the zip on the back of her dress.

"Sorry, it's fiddly," Tonks mumbles.

"But you want me to?" he clarifies, making sure to look at her directly as he asks.

"Course. Do you?"

"Yes," he affirms. He scrabbles uselessly between her shoulder-blades for a few moments, then gives up and nuzzles his nose against her neck.

"Let's do it standing up," Tonks suggests.

"Mmm?"

She pushes Remus off and slides off the bed. Landing on the floor, she grows her legs back so she's at normal height again, grabs Remus' hand and drags him across to his desk.

"Over the desk, yeah?" she says, putting his hands on her hips from behind and leans back against him, "I want you so much right now,"

Sex with Remus so far has been sensual and slow. He's soft and attentive and there's lots of communication, although more of the "Is this alright? Are you sure?" variety than the "I'm so horny, I can't wait to be inside you," variety. He likes it when she plays with his fingers and scuffs a thumb across his lips. He needs kisses on the face, ears, neck, shoulders, arms, before anything goes below-waist. Right now she doesn't have time for any of that; he feels amazing pressed behind her, and it'll be fast and rough and dirty and-

"I can't,"

Tonks glances round at him. "Come again?"

"I can't do it unless you're facing me,"

He's not slurring now. He's uncomfortable and he sounds very sure. He moves his hands from her hips to her shoulders.

"Why? In case I change my face?" Tonks asks, although Remus isn't as annoying about the whole Metamorphmagus thing than other guys she's been with.

"Not that," he clarifies, "I don't like it if I'm not looking at you,"

"Oh," Tonks hears the alcohol ask, "Why?"

"It's a bit impersonal, isn't it? And...I want to know if you change your mind,"

She has to laugh at that. "You can see my face now, can't you? And do you honestly," Tonks says pushing back harder against his chest and hips, "Think that I'm going to change my mind?"

She can't help the sigh-growl that escapes her throat. For once Remus, just shut up and fuck me.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he says, propping her up on her own weight so he can step away from her. His tone is detached and frustrated, as if she's inconveniencing him.

"Why are you being weird about this?" Tonks asks, stung.

"I don't want to, what's wrong with that?"

He's on the defensive now; more waspish than he would be sober.

"Fine, I get it, you don't like doggy-"

She stops talking abruptly as the realisation hits.

Doggy-style.

Oh.

Oh, right. Of course.

Tonks groans inwardly. You stupid, stupid girl.

"I'm so sorry," she breathes. He's staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Remus. I understand,"

Remus can't have sex doggy-style because he can't feel like a wolf, an animal, when he's with her. He lives in terror of that. And of course has to be facing her, because everybody knows that when it comes to women it isn't just bites that Greyback uses as a threat. Tonks winces and tries not to cry. Nearly a year since she cut her hand in the Grimmauld kitchen and she's still putting her foot in her mouth and upsetting him about this. Of course Remus is weird about some stuff, he's a werewolf for goodness sake, and she should know by now that that doesn't mean one night a month. It means every day, every second. How can she love him this much but not have learnt that by now?

Tonks looks at him, standing beside the wardrobe and staring at the ceiling. His clothes and hair are rumpled but all the sexiness of ten seconds ago has vanished. Tonks mumbles his name and reaches out her hand. Remus half-glances at her, touches his fingers to hers, and stares at the ceiling again.

"Forget it. We'll do whatever you like," she murmurs. Anything he wants, anything to make him happy.

After a long pause, Remus mutters, "Maybe we should go to sleep now,"

The wariness in his voice stings. You don't have to be wary with me, Tonks thinks, I love you so much. But maybe that's the problem? She loves him too much to care about the werewolf thing, but he cares about it. Perhaps she loves him with too much intensity. Remus isn't an intense person. Maybe he finds her too much to deal with. Perhaps she is too young for him, after all.

"Yeah," Tonks mutters, spitting the word out hastily so it doesn't choke on tears. She isn't going to cry, she is not going to cry.

Remus moves stiffly to his wardrobe, takes out a set of his pyjamas, and hands Tonks the pair that she's started keeping here. He turns away from her while he changes, and it stings that a minute ago she was about be the one undoing Remus' buttons and his belt, and now he's doing it himself, quickly and silently and not looking at her. But what hurts more is the glimpse of the bite mark on his shoulder- the reason all this has happened and has ruined so much for him.

Tonks battles with the zip on her dress for a few endless seconds, but it won't budge. As if this moment wasn't humiliating enough. With a huff, she gives up and climbs into bed still in her dress. Remus pulls the lumpy duvet over them both, and taps his wand on the beside light to turn it off. They lie beside each other in the darkness, not touching. Silence.

"I'm sorry," Tonks says again.

His voice is tired, and sad, and resigned. "I know,"

In the morning, her hangover kills.


Warnings for language and sex, but nothing major. Hope you enjoy.