A/N: Isn't it terrible that the author who brought you "Treebeard Goes to Get the Hot Oil" can't come up with anything more creative than "Chapter 5"? I'm so sorry. Oh, and these characters are too busy hanging out with J.K. Rowling to belong to me. Prats.
—
"Expecto patronum."
"Nymphadora, I didn't even believe that one—"
"Tonks."
"Appalling attempt, Tonks. Try again."
"Expecto patronum!"
"Better, that. I think we nearly got a—seagull, was it?"
"Harpy, maybe. It's been a harpy a few times."
"How appropriate—ouch! That was completely unnecessary—"
"Expecto patronum!"
—
And the next night as well. Tonks couldn't tell if Lupin actually enjoyed teaching her or if he was simply relieved to be free of his duties as spy for the moment, but she was determined not to improve too quickly.
"Expecto pa—"
"Bring forth your wand on the second syllable, Nymphadora—"
"TONKS!"
"on exPECto, you see, and step forward a bit as well."
"ExPECto patronum—"
"Yes, good step, but you forgot the wand—"
"You're mixing me up!"
"I am sorry."
"You should be; I was working on a brilliant leopard there."
"More impressive than the oyster you came out with last night?"
"Give me a break. I was exhausted after your interminable Immerse The Self in Happy Thoughts nonsense."
"It's been proven that cynical wizards and witches have a harder time producing a strong Patr—"
"Yes, yes, I'll believe that when I see Severus Snape collapse in front of a dementor, thanks very much."
"Again, please."
"ExPECto patronum!"
"Oh, brilliant! Very nice!"
—
She got better, of course. She couldn't help it; his desire to see her improve was apparently stronger than her desire to drag out the lessons for as long as possible. And she admitted that it would be nice when Dumbledore allowed her back out on patrol, as the bloody Department of Magical bloody Law Enforcement had offered absolutely nothing of interest lately. Tonks came back to Order headquarters complaining of boredom on a regular basis, only to be met with Snape's sneer, Molly's tut-tutting, and Moody's helpful remarks, which were usually along the lines of "Prove you can handle it, and we'll give you something interesting to do." And so Tonks' last night of Patronus lessons with Lupin was barely two weeks after the first.
"Five times in succession, Nym—"
"Remus, I'm warning you—"
"Tonks, then."
"Five?"
"You did five last night."
"Yes, but I wasn't thinking about it then."
"Five times in succession, and you need never hear my happy thoughts speech again. Tempting?"
"Extremely."
"Go on."
And she did. And it was lovely and all the rest of it, and on the second and the third try she even produced the same Patronus (the leopard again), and the harpy didn't come out once. And they laughed and celebrated when she'd done it five times in a row, and Lupin conjured glasses of mead out of thin air and Tonks jumped up and down, and before she had time to think about it she had found her way into his arms. He blinked in surprise, but she didn't feel him pulling away.
She settled her head against his shoulder and willed herself not to move.
"N—Tonks—"
"Don't."
"—"
"Whatever it is you're going to say. Just—don't."
He didn't, and so she kissed him.
It was not, Tonks reflected later, exactly what she had expected. It wasn't as though it was her first time snogging anyone (though the others had all been rather forgettable) and it certainly wasn't as though she hadn't expected it to be absolutely amazing (she had; it was). But it was more than him, it was bigger than him, somehow—it was Nymphadora Tonks reaching down into a rather small store of courage and reason and coming out with something right to do. It was, she conceded, rather similar to the feeling of falling and flying at the same time.
"Tonks," he murmured against her forehead, at length.
"You know," she said quietly. "You can call me by my—my real name. I—I actually don't mind so much. When you do."
He shook his head. "Tonks," he said, too softly. "I think you should go."
She had known, before she kissed him, that he would say that, when they had finished. It mattered terribly, and yet it didn't matter at all. She would do it again, she knew; she wouldn't take it back.
And she wouldn't make him ask her twice, either. She picked up her glass of mead from the side table (though she could probably have done with both glasses, she thought ruefully) and headed toward the door. She looked back at him before she left. He hadn't moved.
She would wonder, later, what had made her do it. She did not flourish her wand, and she did not step forward on the second syllable.
"Expecto patronum."
Out of the end of Tonks' wand erupted an immense silver wolf. It trotted forward a few paces before turning to look at Tonks curiously, head cocked slightly to one side. Tonks looked at Lupin, watched Lupin see the wolf—watched his eyes focus on the slightly odd shape of the snout and the tufted tail.
She lowered her wand after a moment. A million remarks flew through her head—some amusing, some caustic—some simply matter-of-fact—and all of them, she decided as she left, completely unnecessary.