Remus stood in a vacant copse, waiting. A waxing moon hung high, visible over the ring of trees around the clearing. The night was mild, but there was an air of expectancy in the world, an electric current. The time of peace they had known was ending. Dumbledore had been right to call whatever was growing on the horizon a rising storm.

Here, outside the splendid walls of Hogwarts, he was no longer a professor, not a scholar, not a battered veteran facing a return to a war he never seemed to escape. It was refreshing sometimes, to leave the grounds as he had done tonight. It was too easy to forget reality, living and working in the castle. Thankfully the person he was meeting never failed to remind him exactly who he was.

"Ah Moony, you got all dressed up for me? I'm flattered. I must be the closest thing to a date you've had in ages," called a voice from the shadows. The rough and prematurely lined face of Sirius Black emerged from the darkness and so did the rest of him, clothed in tattered and weather-beaten robes—most likely stolen.

"A Triwizard event feast, you git," Remus shot back, hiding his grin behind his turned back as he set about enlarging the covered tray of food he had…borrowed…from the house-elves in the kitchen.

"Excuses, excuses. Did you bring me some?"

"Of course. Extra ham and treacle tarts, as you requested. May I offer you anything else? Complimentary elf-made wine? Candlelight for ambiance?"

Sirius groaned as he seized the platter and looked as though he might even cry at the sight of all the food. He was painfully thin, truly looking the part of an escaped convict on the run for his life. It was the tragedy of Sirius Black: the vibrant, bold man with the barking laugh forced to become this hunted refugee stealing food scraps where he could and living in caves as a dog. Another thing we'll make Voldemort pay for, thought Remus.

His friend was speaking, though, "Actually, you could morph yourself into a lovely witch to keep me company, it'd be better than looking at you with that scowl you've got on now. What happened with the meeting with Dumbledore you mentioned before? He tell you that on your next mission you've got to go on a date?" It was a miracle Sirius could talk around the monstrous bites he took.

Irritated, but wanting to goad his friend Remus leaned against a tree trunk, appearing as casual as possible and inspecting his wand as he said, "Something like that."

Sirius' head whipped up from his plate so quickly Remus thought he heard something pop in his friend's neck. "You're bloody joking."

"Oh no, Dumbledore asked for me specifically, because of my expertise."

"Expertise? At what? Blushing and running away from any reasonably attractive witch who so much as makes eye contact with you?"

"You're not the only one who's changed in the past 13 years, Padfoot," he said and grinned.

Sirius scoffed, "Yeah? I'll believe it when I see it. Who's the unlucky lady?"

"An Auror named Tonks—"

Sirius' eyes grew almost as wide as the platter balancing on his knees. "Tonks? Tonks… I know her! She's my cousin Andromeda's kid. She could barely ride a toy broom last time I saw her…" A now-familiar tinge of regret, resentment, and nostalgia came into his friend's voice as it frequently did these days as he was reminded again of the time he had lost to Azkaban.

Sirius reached around in his worn cloak pocket, pulling out a stack of tattered newspaper clippings, flipping through them until he found what he was looking for. "There. Nymphadora Tonks, yeah? I saw her name when I was looking for news on Pettigrew—it's not often I get to be proud of my family. I couldn't believe it was her." It was an article from The Daily Prophet from at least a year prior announcing the new recruits from the Auror Academy, the three cadets lined up in their new Ministry robes standing next to their mentors and Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour.

She didn't fit in at all. She was the only witch in the picture but that was the least of the differences. Whereas her counterparts were all reserve and stiff uniformity, she glowed with personality. Her hair was cut short and styled like the modern Muggle punk look he had noticed on the streets. If he wasn't mistaken it was even dyed, though the black and white picture didn't reveal what color. Thick motorcycle boots poked out beneath her robes. She appeared about as likely to start trouble as to end it, but the proud light evident in Moody's good eye in the photograph made him curious.

There was something about her…

He realized he knew her by sight. In his career as a scholar of dark creatures, he was often called in by different Ministry departments as a consultant. He had seen her a few times amidst the morning rush of wizards and witches arriving for work. He even remembered one time he had been called into the Department of Law Enforcement as a key witness for which he had needed to use his morphing to change his face to protect his identity in the trial. She had rushed around a corner and run into him, spilling everything they'd both been carrying. She had hit him so hard and unexpectedly, he dropped his morph.

"Holy Helga, I'm sorry!" she had gasped at the same time he said, "Are you alright?"

She had stared at him for a second before exclaiming, "Oh that's brilliant! You're a Metamorphmagus? Wicked. I'm jealous—Would've been bloody useful in Concealment."

And he had just blinked at her. People often had strong reactions to his morphing which was embarrassing, but he found he liked her unabashed sincerity. And her nose, which was delicate and straight and flecked with light freckles. He had blinked again and shook his head for good measure.

"Here, let me help you with your things," he murmured.

"Oh, thanks," she said, scooping up her files. When she stood too fast and almost toppled over again, he had steadied her, finding himself dazed by the warmth in her eyes as she laughed and murmured a self-conscious second, "Thanks."

As she'd walked away and he's stood there like an utter prat and rearranged his features into the disguise he'd adopted before, she had looked back over her shoulder and called in a voice full of amusement, "If you're going for the face you had before, you need a new nose—seems you've stolen mine."

That encounter had been—what? Only a few weeks ago? How quickly everything could change.

Remus gazed at the black and white photograph. Again, he was struck by how young she was. In the photograph her head turned to catch the flash of one camera then the next, all the while a playful smile tugging on her cheeks even though she tried to appear stern like her counterparts. Such a pity

Sirius, still joking as he ate, missed his friend's sobered mood. "So, what's the mission? Wine her and dine her to get into the ministry's pants?"

"You're related to her?"

"Yeah, my first cousin once removed or some tosh."

Remus sighed, once again the bearer of bad news. "Then, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this… It appears she was recently bitten by a werewolf." Sirius growled a string of violent curses, some of which were so colorful and explicit he could have only learned them in Azkaban.

"Bloody what, Moony?! Just going to keep that information to yourself? How is she? How are her parents holding up?"

"I know almost as much as you at this point. I do know she's been selected as a potential recruit for the Order and Dumbledore wants me to help her."

Still incensed, Sirius said, "So your expertise is less romancing information out of her and more making sure she doesn't kill anyone."

"Or herself," Remus added, his throat tight.

"Merlin…"

The two friends shared a glance across the clearing.

When Sirius spoke, his voice was strangely gentle, "Let me help you, if I can, Moony. Just say the word. You don't have to do it alone anymore. She's one of the only good family I've got and if there's anything I can do… Besides, I know you—don't just nod and say yes but never let me help. I'm serious."

"I know you are," said Remus who gave a small, placating smile. "And I will. Truly." He glanced at the moon which had shifted position in the sky during their conversation and sighed. "I better be off, I have some second-year essays on vampires to grade that are sure to be abysmal, and some lycanthropy homework of my own to brush-up on."

Sirius came closer and handed over the now spotless and reshrunk serving tray. "Thanks again for the food, mate. Tell Harry that Snuffles misses him and wishes him luck in the final event." He put a once-elegant hand on Remus' arm, a grin on his face but Remus could read through it to the concern and fear beneath. "And take care of my cousin, but not too well, okay? Mudbloods marrying into the family are one thing, but fellow Marauders? Never.

Remus didn't even dignify his friend with a response, rolling his eyes as he apparated away.

000

There was no logical reason for Tonks to be awake at 5 in the morning, but there she was-bolt upright and already reaching for her wand which lay on her bedside table. Moody had always warned her to keep it under her pillow, but Tonks wasn't what you would call a peaceful sleeper and didn't much fancy the idea of digging her wand out of the crack between bed and wall or frantically searching for it in the sheets in the case of an emergency.

Adrenaline pulsed in her veins as she padded through her parents' still home, checking the doors and windows. She knew the layout so well even she didn't stumble in the dark, tiptoeing down the stairs with her wand at the ready.

It had always been her instincts that were her greatest strength at the Auror Academy. For all her clumsiness and youth, it was her gut that made her a valuable member of the team. And at that moment, she knew something big had happened and that something even bigger was happening. Anticipation, both frightening and exhilarating, pulsated up and down her spine and tingled in her fingertips. For the first time since she had been bitten, she felt alive.

Outside she heard the slightest sound. If the house hadn't been perfectly asleep, she would have missed it. Tonks wrenched open the front door and dropped into a defensive stance.

The end of her wand was inches from Albus Dumbledore's crooked nose and his outstretched fist was raised as though he were about to knock on the door she'd just opened.

"Ah, good morning, Miss Tonks."

She straightened and tucked her wand into the waistband of her pajama bottoms, grateful she'd even worn any that night. "Headmaster! Er, what are you doing here?"

"I'm afraid we have some rather terrible news to share." Surprised at her oversight, she realized her old headmaster wasn't alone on her doorstep. A tall man stood behind him, his head slightly hunched forward as though he were trying to hide his height.

"I know you," she blurted to the stranger, "I've seen you before at the Ministry. You specialize in dark creatures. I ran into you once." She would have sworn he blushed but it was hard to tell in the dark.

Dumbledore spoke, "Ah yes, how rude of me. Nymphadora—"

"Please, just Tonks, sir."

"Pardon me. Tonks, may I introduce to you Remus Lupin, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

"Wotcher, Professor," she said, offering him her hand to shake.

"Call me Remus. It's a pleasure to meet you," he murmured without a trace of irony and shook her hand. His was pleasantly warm and much larger than her own, she noted, along with the fact that he was quite handsome in a bookish, gentle way—just as she remembered.

"Erm, anyway, come on in," Tonks said. "I'm guessing you don't want the neighbors overhearing. I'll put on some tea."

She flicked her wand in the general direction of the kitchen and a light came on. On an impulse, she locked the front door behind them as they followed her in and added a few spells to seal it under her breath before guiding her guests to the table. She also threw a couple silencing spells on the kitchen as well, out of respect for her parents upstairs.

The anticipatory feeling vibrating along her nerves had only grown and she was trying to focus on the simple act of making tea, but couldn't concentrate on such a mundane task when on high alert. The newcomers had brought a barrage of smell and sensory information with them which for some reason seemed more than she was used to even with adrenaline lighting up her senses. Plus, the sight of Dumbledore at her mother's table was just plain bizarre.

She fumbled with the teabags and managed to break a teacup before Lupin appeared at her side, murmuring, "Allow me? You can speak with Dumbledore and I'll take care of the tea."

"Oh, thanks."

Although she knew her mother would be appalled at a guest making their own tea, she was grateful for the excuse to focus on the news. She perched herself on the chair opposite her old headmaster. "Well," she asked, "what's happened?"

"Lord Voldemort has returned to power."

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Holy Helga…" she breathed.

Tonks focused on his brilliant blue eyes, searching for any sign of his characteristic twinkle. For the first time since she'd seen him, it was gone. Remus Lupin looked equally grim as he set down their tea before them and conjured a small carafe of milk which he warmed with the tap of his wand once he joined them at the table. Now she could see the two men clearly in the glow of the kitchen light, both looked exceptionally weary, as though they hadn't slept all night and were still facing the prospect of a long while still to go without rest.

"How, Dumbledore?"

With growing horror and outrage she listened as Dumbledore explained the circumstances of Voldemort's return—how Harry Potter had been there and seen it all, how the Triwizard Tournament had been a sham to facilitate Voldemort's return, how Potter had returned clutching Cedric Diggory's corpse, and all this only hours before.

Her stomach clenched. "No…not Cedric!"

She had been in school with him, though he was a few years younger than her. She remembered him from the Hufflepuff common room and had even tutored him once or twice. He had been one of those rare, genuinely sweet young boys. And now he was gone before his life had really even started.

Tonks pushed back from the table and paced, a habit she had picked up from her mother when she was agitated. "I should have been there. If I hadn't gotten bitten, I would have been on duty. I could have helped; I could have done something…"

"You are not the only one who feels that way," offered Lupin who had been silent up to that point, a deep furrow between his brows.

"It does not do to dwell on what might have been. We must now try to face what is," added Dumbledore.

Frustrated, she tried to run her fingers through her hair. Then she remembered most of it was gone. "So, what now? What can we do?"

Lupin spoke, each word heavy with dark gravity. "We must prepare for war."

"Whatever you're planning, I want to join. I want to fight!"

"It won't be easy. You should think about the consequences before you join us. You could lose everything. The Death Easters, Voldemort—they'll take it all from you before they even think of taking your life," said Lupin.

"That just means it's that much more important to push against them, to stop them from what they did before! What they've already started with Cedric. I'm willing to do whatever it takes, whatever is needed of me." She tried to put as much conviction and anger into her words as possible, tried to prove to them how much it meant to her to be on the ground and fighting.

The two professors shared a glance. The younger man his eyebrows slightly and Dumbledore gave a small nod. It appeared she had passed some kind of test.

"Alastor was right about you," her old Headmaster said to her and for a moment the twinkle shone in his eyes again.

The ceiling above their heads creaked and she fell into another defensive stance, hand already at her wand. When her brain caught up with her body, a blush bloomed over her cheeks and she righted herself, chagrined. "Sorry," she said. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me the past couple of days. Just jumpy, I guess."

Professor Lupin was observing her over his teacup and she found his gaze unsettling. Not that it was harsh or in any way dismissive, but his eyes were so…clear. As if she couldn't hide anything from him. As if he never missed anything. Tonks was certain that if he had been her professor, she wouldn't be able to pull anything over him even though he wasn't near as terrifying as McGonagall or Snape. There was still something about him that made her think if you crossed him, you wouldn't be likely to do it again. Most likely because you wouldn't be able to.

"The full moon will be in two nights. It'll be your first transformation, I suppose. Your senses are already more sensitive than normal, aren't they?"

She nodded, surprised and unnerved.

"I'm guessing you're getting headaches from everything being heightened and you're also sleeping less because of restlessness and nightmares. Perhaps you've experienced some irritability? Achy joints?" he continued.

Suddenly she found his close observation of her intrusive. She didn't want this…thing…to control her life or define her. It was just something that happened once a month. It was just an inconvenience, that's all. Her furry little problem.

"Yes, thank you, Remus," said Dumbledore. "Tonks, I admit that our visit today is two-fold. I have informed Remus about recent events concerning your attack and he has agreed to provide you with additional assistance."

Tonks couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not interested in being treated like an experiment or one of the dark creatures you keep in a glass cage for your classes, Professor. Between the healers, the training I got at the Academy, and my family—I think we've got it covered. But don't mind me. You know us dark creatures and our irritability." She crossed her arms over her chest which was hot with an anger she hadn't felt a moment ago.

Remus scoffed, "I've read those pamphlets the Ministry makes St. Mungo's give out. They're utter rubbish—I've been trying to convince them to let me edit those things for ages. They don't tell you what it's really like. I can help you."

"Yeah? And how do you know? Did you study werewolves? Did you write papers about them? Did you observe them like test subjects in some Muggle laboratory?"

She didn't think it was possible, but Remus' face became more drawn. Any traces of good humor grew cold.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and strained. "I…had a sister. A twin sister. She was bitten when we were very young. She survived the attack…but the transformations…" He cleared his throat. "She died."

"Oh."

A leaden silence filled the room until Dumbledore spoke, "Perhaps we should take our leave, Remus. We have no doubt burdened Tonks with a great deal of information at once and we should allow her the opportunity to process the great many changes she faces, as do we all, in the coming days."

"Of course, sir."

Together the men stood and Lupin flicked his wand, clearing the remains of the tea away as neatly as her mother did—though Tonks stubbornly refused to be impressed. An angry blush still heated her cheeks. She led them to the door, waving away the magical barriers she'd set.

Tonks felt chagrined but still resolute. No one else was going to prod her with their wands or treat her like an animal, like a thing. No one else was going to treat her like she had stopped being a bloody person. She liked this Lupin fellow well enough, but the thought of having him waltzing in every month with all his bookishness and politeness to tell her how her blood was cursed, to declare her a living death threat to everyone around her, to heap bad news on her like all the others had done… She just couldn't take that. Especially from him.

"We will be sending you a message soon regarding a time and place where you will be able to meet others who are joining the fight. Until we meet again, my dear." Dumbledore bowed to her and took off down the front garden path.

Lupin paused before he followed, one foot on the path and turned. The light of the rising sun cast shadows on his face, exaggerating the weariness etched there, and cast red highlights in his short beard. "I respect your reservations, but you should know I don't think of you as a creature. If you change your mind, Nymphadora, my offer still stands."

He walked away and joined Dumbledore by her mother's flowers, not giving her a chance to reply or apologize. As soon as they crossed the property boundary, they vanished together.

She stood on the spot for a long while, her thoughts churning. It wasn't until she returned inside from the chill of the morning that she realized she hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him off about her name.

Later that day she had almost chalked the morning's strange events to her pain potions messing with her head again, when, over the Daily Prophet announcing the strange events of the Triwizard Tournament, her father asked, "Dora? Was that Dumbledore I saw admiring your mother's begonias at the arse-crack of dawn this morning?"

So, it was real, then… She was going to fight against Voldemort, her aunt, her cousin, and all the others like them—even more than she had as an Auror. What she was going to do would matter—and so would she.

000

It wasn't until that night when Remus returned to his quarters at Hogwarts after a quick scrub in the staff bath, when he could finally reflect on the day. Flashes of scenes played out again before his closed eyes: Harry holding Cedric's corpse; the limp, soulless form of Barty Crouch Jr.; and the diminished body of Karkaroff, who he had impersonated during the school year… Also mixing in his exhausted mind were the solemn faces of Emmaline Vance, Daedalus Diggle, Hestia Jones, and others as he had related to them the urgency of reforming the Order of the Phoenix.

The pale, heart-shaped face of Nymphadora Tonks kept resurfacing, too. Perhaps it was because it had been a very different witch who had opened the door than the one he expected. Or perhaps it was because their exchange had gone so poorly.

He wished his conversation with her had gone differently. He hadn't meant to speak to her so clinically—she was right to be affronted. Good Godric, she had been treated badly by the St. Mungo's staff. Almost a month after the fact and she still bore the evidence of tight restraints yellowing her wrists. Raking wounds had carved down her left arm, clearly tended by someone who had no idea what they were doing. And even with a cursory inspection, he had noted with dissatisfaction the potions and ingredients meant for her healing. Dittany? Next to useless…Of course, she didn't want more help—she needed better help.

He just doubted he could be the one to provide it. He hadn't helped Harry this year as much as he should have—it was just as well the Potters had chosen Sirius to be the boy's godfather for all the use he had been. His help hadn't meant anything to the dead Prewett brothers. His help hadn't counted for anything once Peter betrayed the Potters. And his help certainly hadn't saved his sister.

A wave of despair and loss threatened to overwhelm him and drag him under. The feeling of guilt and shame grew so weighty it nearly robbed him of breath.

No. Don't go there, he told himself.

In the darkness of his solitary apartments, Remus Lupin summoned the happiest memory in his possession: the day he had met his three future best friends on the first train ride to Hogwarts. He held the memory for a moment, the details crystalized after so long. Crisp September sun filtered in through the train's window, raucous laughter as James and Sirius tried out spells they had made up, the warmth in his chest as he looked at them and felt he was no longer alone…

Instead of its usual noncorporeal shape, a beautiful, fully formed female wolf erupted from his wand, its peaceful luminescence casting silver light around the room. It pranced about then lifted its head in a silent howl. At last, it curled up beside his bed where it lay in watchful rest.

No. He wouldn't get lost again. He had a future. He had a purpose. It would do no good to let the fear win. Tomorrow he had to find Sirius and they would go about setting up Headquarters at the Black ancestral home.

And maybe I'll stop by Honeyduke's, too, for a conciliatory gesture, he thought as he closed his eyes to the fading light of his Patronus.

The full moon was one night away.