Visiting my parents was like a double-edged sword. Whenever life was just about to drive me spare, I'd drop by my childhood home, and things got put back into perspective. The downside was that Mum's way too sharp, and always wants to fix her little girl's problems. Unconditional love, I appreciated. Mother knows best advice—not so much.

"So, you tell your grandmother about your new boyfriend, but your parents, they don't need to know?"

About to take a bite of dessert, I placed my unused fork down on the lace tablecloth tatted by my great-grandmother Tonks. I fought the urge to jump to my feet, yell, "Mother, how could you?" and storm from the room, overturning my chair and slamming the door on the way out.

That wouldn't be a mature response to Mum's question, even though it had got me out of explaining several dodgy episodes in my youth. The little voice that presumptuously called itself reason reminded me that in some countries, I'd barely be allowed to buy a drink. Ignoring it, I said calmly, "So, you dropped by Gran's and interrogated her, did you? What exactly did she say?"

"Don't take that tone with me, Nymphadora."

"Don't stick your nose in my business, Andromeda."

My father cleared his throat, the peacemaker as always. "Dromeda, didn't we agree to let Dora tell us about this Remus fellow in her own time?"

A blush made my face heat. Two sets of eyes observed me with interest. Dad's broad, good-humoured face was smiling indulgently. Mum's Mona Lisa smile was harder to decipher. Tucking a strand of hair back into her tidy French twist, the heart-shaped face that I'd inherited along with what Dad called terrier-like determination softened when she replied, "Yes, we did, Ted." Her lips pursed. "Thank you for reminding me." Catching my grin at her dry tone, she arched a meticulously plucked brow. "If I truly thought that day would ever come, I wouldn't have asked, dear."

Rationalizations never bothered me when I was the one using them to justify my actions. Mum's always irritated me. Trying to envision a reed bending before the wind, I said, "I'll tell you what I told Gran. I met a nice guy, we're still getting to know each other, and if it gets serious, I'll invite him over to meet you, OK?"

Mum took a dainty bite of dessert and paused to enjoy her conjuring skills before asking offhandedly, "Does this Remus have a last name?"

Stuffing a large spoonful of chocolate mousse into my mouth, I took my time making appreciative noises and swallowing before smiling. "That's on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know unless I bring him round."

An exasperated gleam lit my mother's dark eyes before she shrugged and finished her dessert. Dad shared a story about a couple who wanted copper pipes because they were more aesthetically pleasing, even though no one would ever see them behind the walls. Plumbing was a lucrative business in a city like London. Dad's clients ranged from Muggles to wizards, with the odd goblin or squib now and again. Some purebloods like my ex looked down on him as a Mudblood liberal, but my father had more friends than I could count. His reputation as an honest businessman might not impress the Wizarding world's high society, but it always made me proud.

In the kitchen afterwards, Mum made coffee while Dad and I cleared the dishes. Actually, he used his wand to work the cleaning spells while I put the dishes away. Domestic charms weren't my forte, which is why no one ever had dinner at my flat. I'd have to clean and conjure. Why bother when there were so many good restaurants?

Dad hummed a song while he dried the dishes. I snickered.

"C'mon, Dora, you know it's your favourite," he said with a grin.

Mum tried to look disapproving, but her lips twitched. Dad took that as encouragement to sing Our House, a song that had been our favourite ever since we first heard the band that later pretended to be Muggle on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Dad grabbed Mum's hand and began dancing her around the floor. I jumped around them like I had before my age reached double digits.

Walking me to the parlour fireplace shortly afterwards, my mother smiled affectionately and ruffled the midnight blue hair that matched my eyes tonight. "Madness was an appropriate name for that group."

When she kissed my cheek, I grinned. "I will miss you in lots of ways."

Dad chuckled. Mum tried to smooth down my hair. "I wish you could stay longer."

"Me too, but I can't. I've got to go get ready for my date tonight."

"Your date?"

Only willpower kept my smile in place. "I meant my job."

The Mona Lisa smile was back. "But you said date."

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, I stepped into the fireplace, and flounced off with a terse goodbye. Not exactly a mature response, but it made me feel better temporarily.

.

The September moon that had been full a few days ago was beginning to wane. I hadn't seen the wizard my family now believed was my new boyfriend since the meeting. I'd thought about Remus J. Lupin a lot; especially during the nights I'd sat alone gazing at the harvest moon from Morty's rooftop garden. Maybe it was the natural result of growing up with Dad singing every full moon: That's Amore.

I wasn't having any trouble sleeping at night, though. Not since my mate Lisa from Blue Moon taught me the Morpheus Charm. It was easy as chant, wave your wand, and fall into the arms of Morpheus, the god of sleep. Eight hours straight, guaranteed. Almost as good as natural sleep and no dreams. I hoped it wasn't addictive.

Evaluating the contents of my wardrobe, I found the outfit that was perfect for tonight's job and promptly zipped it into a garment bag. A shower and depilatory spell for smooth legs later—only to ensure the silk stockings wouldn't run—I Flooed to a flat belonging to a female member of the Underground.

I looked around the place and shivered. Chintz…doilies…china figurines…paintings of flowery landscapes and…oh, Merlin…a big-eyed girl holding a sad-eyed dog. The place gave me the creeps. No one was around, so I bent to peruse a row of books in a small case beside a rocker. They were all by one author: Barbara Cartland. I'd never heard of her, so I picked out an interesting title, The Little Pretender, and opened up a page to read aloud,

"If you must leave me, most beautiful mademoiselle," he said, "at least allow me to kiss your lips before you go." Laughter trembled in my tone when I theatrically placed the back of my hand to my brow. "His voice was silky, but there was an undercurrent of lust in it which warned Iona of the danger in which she stood."

A disapproving voice halted my amusement of the writer's florid prose. "Some people enjoy romance novels."

A woman in her thirties, with black hair braided and coiled at the back of her head, stood frowning in the doorway. Plump and pink-cheeked, she looked like someone who would bake biscuits and be president of a Women's Auxiliary. In her flower-print dress, she matched her home and intimidated me with her domestic goddess aura. I shelved the book and tried to joke, "Oh, I like romance novels fine, especially the ones with an undercurrent of lust."

Her nostrils flared slightly. The Queen was not amused. I stepped forward. "Hullo, I'm Tonks. I don't think we were introduced at the meeting."

"I'm Hestia Jones. No, we weren't. I'm surprised that Emmeline picked you for this task when I was willing to volunteer. You look very young."

She looked a right sourpuss. Hestia, goddess of hearth and home; I tried to think of Greek myths that depicted her as a fun loving goddess. There weren't any. My lips quirked as I said, "I know, and yet I'll never see twenty-one again."

"Humph!"

Had Hestia been the goddess of the funeral home? She acted like it. Luckily, I wasn't one of those people who must have everyone love them or suffer a breakdown, so I just smiled politely. My smile widened in relief when Mrs. Vance, looking majestic in an emerald-green gown and what must be her favourite shawl, entered the room behind Ms. Jones.

"Are you ready to hear more details about your assignment?" Mrs. Vance asked.

I nodded. "Would you like to fill me in while I change?"

The Jones woman looked taken aback and relieved that I hadn't wanted to expose my frilly bits to her. Mrs. Vance chuckled. "Hestia's made a guest room available down the hall."

Décor in the rest of the flat maintained the twee nightmare theme. It was rather dizzying. Cabbage rose wallpaper in the guest room overwhelmed the small space. I took out the dress, stating blandly, "Likes floral patterns, doesn't she?"

Mrs. Vance fingered my silk gown. "Hestia's taste is all in her mouth, but you, my dear, have style. I like this colour, lilac with, what's that on the fabric?"

"A metallic-gold sponge print." The sheer dress robes were the same shade of gold.

I quickly dressed, admiring the shirred material of the halter and the softly pleated floor length skirt. Drop earrings and metallic gold slides completed the outfit. While I fastened the dress robes, Mrs. Vance handed me a picture of a pureblood couple and asked if I'd ever met them. I nodded. "Terrence and Elspeth Travers. His older brother was sent to Azkaban for accessory to murder. He's in real estate. She's the trophy wife."

"Excellent. Our people have detained Mr. and Mrs. Travers and placed sleep and Memory Charms on them. They will wake tomorrow believing they attended the function. You and your partner will impersonate the couple, attend the party in their place, and search for a certain book in the library. Should be simple enough."

If my partner had been anyone else but Remus, the job would be simple, but putting myself in close proximity to that particular man automatically made things complicated. Our hostess sniffed loudly upon seeing my gown when we returned to the lounge. Otherwise, Hestia kept her opinion to herself.

She did ask, "You do know how to dance, don't you?"

I saw a receiver for the Wireless Network sitting on a table. I turned it on and found some rhythm and blues. Proving once again that I lacked the ability to behave myself, I did a winding move before down shaking in a way that made Hestia stare in horror and an amused male voice say, "I like it, but that's not what she meant."

Whirling to meet an appreciative gaze, I snapped defensively, "I know, and yeah, I can waltz and stuff. Can't anybody take a joke?"

Looking very distinguished and handsome in impeccably tailored black dress robes, Remus said, "I wish this was a joking matter, but tonight's mission is vital. The Underground needs that information to save lives." He smiled. "Of course, in dark times, I find a sense of humour extremely attractive."

I needed him to Polyjuice into someone less appealing before I was tempted to do something rash, like grab his robes and pull him close to snog his lips off. I asked quickly, "Are you going to use Polyjuice or Polyjuice Maximus?" I needed to know how long we'd have to complete our mission, two hours or four.

"Maximus." His lips curved. I found myself stepping closer, drawn by quiet charm that endangered my willpower. Close inspection revealed care lines on Remus's face that hadn't been there the last time I'd seen him. He looked tired, yet resolute. Tactful as ever, I asked, "Have you been ill?"

Hestia exclaimed shrilly, "What a rude question! The utter cheek! His health is of no concern to you, young woman."

I looked at Remus. My face was hot with the conflicting urges to apologise if I'd offended him, and the longing to slap that witch for talking to me like I was a firstie asking Hagrid how come he was so big. Remus smiled understandingly at me while telling Hestia, "It's quite all right. There's no reason for Tonks not to know that I have a…illness…that taxes my strength from time to time." Before I could compound my bad manners by asking what it was, he said, "I'm much stronger than I appear, and well up to tonight's assignment."

He left the room to transform into Terrence Travers. When he returned, tall, blond and bland, I morphed into a copy of Elspeth, who matched him in colouring and insipid attractiveness. I'd waited because I'm a bit of a show-off, and his fascinated expression made me proud of the ability some had called freakish. I'd met the real couple at several parties with Evan, and I was satisfied no one would know the difference.

Mrs. Vance told us the Floo direction of the party. My face must've lost colour, because Remus/Terrence asked concernedly, "Is anything wrong?"

I didn't want to answer, so I shook my head. We left Hestia's flower-bedecked lounge to step out of a fireplace that tried to compete with Italianate palaces for most marble used. It belonged to the man, who looked up from the couple he was chatting with to smile and hold out his hands. Stiffly, I moved forward and took them. My ex-fiancée kissed my cheek and murmured, "I'm so glad you could come. You look lovely, Elspeth."

My faux-husband slid an arm around my waist, drawing me back to his side. He shook hands with Evan and returned the other man's smile. "Glad to be here. My assistant just drew up the paperwork on a profitable deal, and this is the perfect way to celebrate."

It was uncanny how much Remus sounded like Travers. He was ace at Voice Charms. Our host moved on to greet another couple. My partner and I smilingly accepted the man's invitation to join the gathering in the ballroom. In the outer corridor, masculine fingers brushed long strands away from my ear before bending to whisper, "How do you know Rosier?"

Another couple exited the library. I giggled. "Terry, sweetie, you're so wicked." Pulling him into a small study, I said after closing the door, "Elspeth and Terrence are notorious for getting amorous in odd locations at parties." He didn't back away, remaining uncomfortably close. I confessed, "I ended my engagement to Evan Rosier over a year ago." Pale blue eyes remained steadily on mine. I stared into them and envisioned brown. "As you can imagine, I know this house and how he runs a party. We won't be able to search the library for at least another hour."

"Do you still love him?"

That was none of his business. "No."

Remus smiled. Even with Terrence's face, the wolfish quality came through. I cleared my throat. "Erm . . . we should probably go dance or something."

For a heart stopping moment, I thought that he was reaching for me to do something that involved his mouth and mine. I hoped that my expression hadn't fallen when Remus opened the door and gestured for me to exit first. We made our way into the ballroom.

"Elspeth, darling, I love your gown!"

Pasting a vacuous smile across my tanning-charm bronzed face, I cried, "Prissy, darling, I love your gown too!"

Priscilla Parkinson looked like a sausage about to burst its casing, but insincere gushing was expected. We kissed air instead of cheeks and started to chat. My partner held my hand and kept brushing his thumb across the underside of my wrist. As a distraction to keep me from acting out of character and making a scathing remark, it was brilliant. If only my blood pressure wasn't rising steadily with the stimulation. Eventually, the pug-faced current fiancée of our host shoved off to bore someone else.

Once we reached the dance floor, I proved that when necessary, I could indeed dance appropriately. I pinned a smile to what in real life were most likely collagen-spelled lips and kept my bubble headed expression in place while we circled the floor.

I'm enjoying this assignment a little too much.

A huff of laughter made me realise I'd said my thought out loud. Obviously, my mind was melting along with my bones and the resolve not to start something with Remus. We'd been dancing on and off for an hour. That was a long, long time to be in close contact with the guy I was fighting an attraction to.

A singer at the far end of the ballroom started to sing Blue Moon. The song was one that Dad used to play on an enchanted Muggle record player. He and my mum would sway along to the soulful lyrics about being alone, without a love of one's own, until that special someone came along. I wondered if this was the chanteuse's subtle dig at pureblood superiority, singing a Muggle jazz standard. Without thought, I imitated Mum and moved closer to rest my head on my partner's shoulder.

With eyes closed, it was easy to pretend that Remus and I were slowly swaying our way toward the sofa in my flat. I wanted to kiss him desperately. Something about the slightly musky scent of his skin drove me crazy. His hands caressed my back. The fabric of my dress robes was so sheer that I could feel the warmth of his palms like they were sliding against bare skin. My fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shifted closer. I shivered and instinctively turned my head to the side. Remus's lips trailed up my throat. My fingers clenched in his hair.

He breathed in my ear, "I think we can search the library now."

I stared, uncomprehending, for a few moments, until the words registered. My face heated and my smile turned brittle. "Oh, yeah, sure."

An expression of frustration crossed his currently bland features. I ignored his outstretched hand and began walking toward the far end of the room, taking quick, small steps instead of the long strides I wanted to use. I told myself that I was glad he'd ruined the mood, stopped me from kissing him in front of a ballroom full of interested spectators.

Reaching the corridor, I turned to watch Remus make his way to me. Even looking like Terrence, his lean, elegant grace made me sigh. Not in regret, in relief. My lips twisted in a rueful smile. Maybe if I kept saying that over and over, I'd brainwash myself into believing it.

.

A/N: Who thinks Tonks "lacks the ability to" brainwash herself? Heh. I wish I could've added the lyrics to Blue Moon, but FF does not allow, alas. If you've never heard it, you can always go to Letssingit dot com and read the lyrics. Fitzgerald is fab! Reviewers are also fab, which is why I have a tendency to use their names in fics. Perhaps that should be in the disclaimer, writer unconsciously (or deliberately) uses names that fit her purposes, but any other resemblance to the characters is completely coincidental...according to my solicitor. :D If you've never read a Barbara Cartland novel, they're hilarious (unintentionally) with heroines that would be fit brides for Captain James T. Kirk as they all gasp 'I...love...you...too...', snicker. Special thanks go to wonderful reviewers 40/16 Camillia Vincent Carnivalgirl clamsofmacabre cupcakeswirl Diverse Sister ElspethBates Embellished FNP Funnykido GraceRichie heartdamoose iamafairy ishandahalf Jedi Knight Padme jennaymai kathaania Lady Ceridwen Loz Me Melpomene1 Nutsaboutremus Quicksilver Foxx Rachel Slipknot-3113 Slytherin Love Goddess sunny9847 The Demonic Duo unhallucinating