Tonks is out for a drink (ok, a few drinks, actually) in East London when it happens.
She's meeting with an old friend, Tulip Karasu, when the topic of boys (men?) comes up.
And Tulip, it turns out, has had horribly poor luck with them, as of late.
She's going on in the middle of a rant when she pauses. Gives Tonks a look that only she can decipher correctly as one of utter, drunken mischief.
"You know who's the man I really wanna date?"
Tonks gives her a tipsy, overly-eager grin. Merlin, she's missed a good old fashioned girl's night out. Missed all this nonsensical gossip, the bubbly feeling of alcohol in her veins, making her feel lighter than air, practically.
"Yeah? Who do you wanna date?"
Tulip leans in conspiratorially, like it's a secret.
"I want a Mr. Darcy, Tonks." she whispers, looking all-too-proud of herself.
Tonks squints, not quite remembering.
"Darcy… is he that one guy from the Austen novel? Tall, bookish, arrogant sort of fellow?"
Tulip smacks her shoulder lightly, in mock affront.
"From Pride and Prejudice, dummy! Mr. I-love-you-most-ardently, please-end-my-misery-now Darcy!"
She gives a half-grin at that, as her recollection of the character comes back. "Yeah, I always did like Mr. Darcy. Even if he was a right git in the book, sometimes."
"He was a right git, but it was for love, Dora. For loveeeeeee!"
She waggles her eyebrows at her for added comedic and emphatic effect. Tonks cracks another grin at the sight.
"Yeah, yeah, alright. You want a Mr. Darcy. One small problem though."
Tulip leans closer. "What's that, Miss Tonks?"
Tonks grins.
"He's not real, Tulip!"
The girl in front of her laughs like she's just told a truly hysterical joke.
"Nonsense, Tonks! There's always a Mr. Darcy, somewhere. It's just about finding him."
Tulip takes another sip of her cocktail, grinning, before she continues her explanation -
"He must be a gentleman who's tall and polite and handsome, of course. I'll find him someday."
She leans in again, and Tonks can nearly smell the drink on her breath.
"We'll scour all of England and find him! Will the Auror department let you lead a proper search, you think?"
She laughs at that.
"Well, for such an important mission… I can't see why they wouldn't!"
"See! We'll both find our elusive Mr. Darcy. Someday."
"Yeah," Tonks agrees, suddenly thinking of a man she knows who's also alarmingly tall and polite and handsome, (though missing the Austen-eque attire required for this very specific fantasy). "Maybe."
She collapses into her bed much later that night.
Falls right asleep, all else be damned.
Going to sleep drunk is a mistake. She knows that tonight, now more than ever.
She dreams of herself, walking across a field. Dreams of a man, coming towards her. The morning mist surrounding them both, the pink skies of the cool, early dawn.
Tonks feels her heart flutter at the arrival of this unknown suitor, whoever he is.
Except, she realizes as he comes closer, she knows who this is.
And, for better or worse, it's not some faceless man.
It's Mr. Remus Lupin, for fuck's sake.
He's dressed in period clothing, as is she — a dress for her and a flowy, open-necked shirt and trousers for him. That conveniently allows her to ogle a bit of his bare chest, and damn, has he always been this built? Or is this creative license, courtesy of her semi-lucid brain?
She's not sure. But she chooses to address him, once he's in earshot, anyways —
"Remus."
"Nymphadora."
She squints.
"Call me Tonks, you dolt."
He winces awkwardly.
"Tonks," he corrects himself, and then, softly - "Why are you up?"
I was/maybe still am drunk?
No, that's not right. Pick a different response!
What would Elizabeth Bennet say?
"I … I couldn't sleep." she murmurs.
"Nor I," he agrees, and then, another declaration:
"I have a confession to make."
Her heart is suddenly beating out of her chest. But she replies, nevertheless —
"Pray tell."
He steps closer and she's suddenly acutely aware of his physical presence, his body coming so, so close to hers.
(God, he's so tall. Isn't he? She's got butterflies now, damn it.)
Tonks forces herself out of her thoughts and back to him in front of her. Sees that he's gazing at her with intent.
"You have bewitched me, Nymphadora, body and soul, and I love — I love — I love you."
She blinks.
What?
The appropriate response, by the way, should be horror.
He just confessed his love for her with no immediate context whatsoever! What in Merlin's beard — ?
But maybe it's the alcohol-induced tipsiness that's leaked into her dream, or her general giddiness at seeing him here, but she blurts out, in a manner far less ladylike than she should —
"I — I feel the same! I have for a while now, actually,"
The look on his face — it's indescribable. Like he's aged backwards, suddenly. Looking for all the world like he's — well, like he's in love.
"How long have you felt this way, Tonks?"
She shrugs, but can't help the dopey grin on her face.
"Ages, really."
He draws closer still, and then he's got a hand on her chin, gently tipping her face up to his.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he murmurs. "Why did we waste so much time?"
"Because I'm just a girl, Remus." she breathes out, wondering where on earth this is coming from, suddenly.
"And I didn't know." she adds quickly. "Not back then. Not immediately."
"But you know now?"
"Yes," she whispers, and now she's staring at his mouth because damn it, she wants to, and she's too far gone to pretend otherwise.
He doesn't miss it, either.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" he murmurs, and his eyes are on her lips, too.
She feels her cheeks turn pink. Finds herself at a loss for words.
"I — what?"
Even in the fantasy, she's embarrassed to admit that she suddenly wants nothing more.
As if she has a façade to uphold. As if anyone would know.
(Also, did people even kiss in the Regency era? Before marriage, that is? This feels mildly scandalous.)
It's like he's read her thoughts, she swears.
Remus leans in closer. Rumbles, in her ear, something low and outrageously sexy, damn him —
"You can do whatever you want. It's your dream, you know…"
Somehow, that logic checks out. It's enough to have her convinced, anyways.
"Oh, fuck it! Yes. Yes."
He gives her what can only be described as a shit-eating grin, like he's milking this moment for everything it's worth. It's wildly attractive, in spite of everything, and she realizes why this man was a Marauder, back in his school days.
"Yes, what?" he corrects her, gentle and yet cocky, smug.
"Yes, kiss me," she mutters, and then her voice, a bit quieter, almost entreating: "Please?"
His smile softens into something gentler. It feels strangely… familiar.
Like if she hasn't already seen it in real life, she will soon.
"As you wish," he agrees, and then he's leaning in close, so close...
...and that, of course, is when her alarm goes off for her 6 AM shift.
Tonks wakes up with a start.
And, for better or worse, remembers everything in her stupid Pride and Prejudice themed dream. Including, of course, being blocked at a very, em, delicate part of said dream.
But, more importantly...
Mr. Darcy is Remus. Holy. Shit.
She'll deal with the ramifications of that realization a bit later, when her head is no longer throbbing and she can think straight.
For now, she needs to drink a lot of water. Write down whatever she drank last night, and never drink it again.
But something tells her the impending hangover isn't going to be her only problem, for a long, long time…