A/N: Eeew, school started...I've had this chapter written since the summer and haven't had a spare second to put it up. xx But homework is letting up a bit now, so I'm going to be writing tons.

Bit of plot development here...actually, this is where it gets into the real plot, which, now that I've worked out all the kinks in it, has almost nothing to do with the Peter Pan Complex. So...does anyone have some suggestions for a different title?

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Tonks stepped out of the fireplace into her bedroom, smiling. It had been ages since she'd been on a real date, and Harry had done an excellent job of making her see what she was missing. He was a good kisser, too. She pressed a finger to her lips, remembering the feel of Harry's mouth and sighing happily.

But it had been a long day, and Tonks was incredibly tired. She dropped her sweatshirt on the floor and fell into her bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

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The next morning, Tonks was up bright and early. She wiggled into her jeans and threw on a Puddlemere United shirt, grabbed her broom and Quidditch pass, and stopped in front of the mirror for a minute, deciding on light blue hair and green eyes. She put her hair up in a pair of spiky pigtails on her way out, rushing so that she wouldn't be late to Harry's game...and stopped short the moment she entered the living room.

"Jonathon Michael Lenning," Tonks said loudly and annoyedly, "you had better not have been there all night."

The man on the couch woke up with a start, looking at her blearily and running a hand over his unshaven face. Then he got up quickly and tried to give her a hug.

"Thank god! Where were you last night? I was panicked. Couldn't you have left a note or something?"

Tonks pushed away from him angrily. "I was on a date, Jon. Stop acting like you're my mother or something."

"Who-"

Tonks held up a hand, refusing to be interrupted. "Why should I leave a note for someone who doesn't live here anymore? I got home at a normal hour, not that it's any of your business. And I am not pleased to wake up this morning and find out my ex-boyfriend camped out on my couch."

Jon frowned. "Don't call me that."

Tonks sighed annoyedly, counting to five in her head before saying anything. "Would you get it through your fat head that that's what you are, Jon? Stop showing up here, stop inviting me out, stop giving me presents, stop asking why I don't want to be around you! You're such a guilt-tripper. I couldn't believe it when you sent me flowers last night. Right before a date! I felt horrible."

Jon shook his head. "I didn't know. Tonks, give me a chance. You don't know what you're doing. If I give you more space, will you stop being mad at me?"

"No!" Tonks yelled, fists clenched. She took a deep breath, and glanced down at her watch. "Shit. Now I'll have to Apparate. I hate that." She leaned her broom against the wall and slipped her pass on, then turned to Jon, who was looking at the all-access pass she was wearing. "You. Out. Now." She turned him around and pushed him towards the door.

"Wait – where are you going? What's around your neck?"

Tonks opened the door and pushed him out into the hall, then held up her pass for him to look at. "This is an all-access pass for the Quidditch season. My boyfriend gave it to me. I'm going to see him play against the Wimbourne Wasps."

Tonks slammed the door in his face, then slumped against the closed entrance, putting a hand over her face. She probably shouldn't have called Harry her boyfriend, she reflected – but she needed to make a point. Jon had never respected her when they were going out, and hadn't respected her decision to break up with him. Tonks knew that she should be mad at him. Part of her was. But another part of her whispered to listen to him, that there had been good times with him, that he wanted to protect her and love her.

'Protect me and love me and treat me like a retard,' she thought angrily, straightening up and looking through the peephole. Jon was walking quietly towards the stairs, his shoulders slumped. Tonks sighed and Apparated with a small pop.

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Harry groaned as Puddlemere was scored on for the seventeenth time in the half-hour game. The Puddlemere chasers were putting up a good fight, but the Wasps were still winning by ninety points - and the dreary weather wasn't helping. Harry looked around for Fred Stoller, the Wasps Seeker. Spotting the young Mohawked man hovering around, Harry decided that neither of them were having much luck.

He watched as Stoller circled the stadium slowly. When they were only a few yards apart, Stoller went into a fast dive. Harry followed reflexively, squinting against the wind and drizzle for the glint of gold that must be there. He was getting closer to the ground, closer...

Just as he was about to crash into the ground, Harry spotted the snitch a few yards to the left. He cast a quick glance over at Stoller, who had already pulled up, and had his hand outstretched...Harry plowed into the ground with a dull thud.

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Augh...we lost to the Wasps. My fault. Stoller has a new move, some variation of the Wronski Feint. He's very proud of it, but it makes my ribs hurt. The loss doesn't really matter much though. We should still make it to the World Cup. It's just annoying because I went barreling into the ground full blast with Tonks in the Top Box. My ego hurts more than my ribs.

I talked to her at the after-game party. No snogging or anything, which was a little disappointing, but I can live with it. She was upset because her ex-boyfriend is practically stalking her. He sounds like a real asshole. I offered to send Vince over, but she said no. She did like the idea of spelling the locks, though. I'm going to go over tomorrow with Dobby.