-

Beneath crimson-red awnings, a display of fresh meat hung in the front window of the Robinson Family Butchers. Remus' eyes fixed on a huge joint of beef. His stomach growled.

Will sniggered. "Didn't you tell me never to shop for groceries when I'm hungry?"

Remus' stomach gurgled even more loudly. "You shouldn't," he said, clinging to dignity. "You haven't developed proper self-control."

"What? And you have?"

"Over the years, yes, I have."

Will wasn't impressed. "If being content to do without is what you call self-control, I don't want any."

That was no surprise to Remus. Fenrir Greyback and his minions like Skoll and Dix painted a rosy picture of werewolves given power and treated with respect. They failed to mention that the blood spilled to achieve Voldemort's ends would likely belong to their followers.

"I haven't asked you to be content," said Remus. "I only ask you to be realistic. When you have limited funds, you have to budget."

"I s'ppose next you'll have me give up beer?"

Will's unenthusiastic tone earned a smile. "No, just moderate your drinking."

"Fine. I'll consider it, if you'll consider entering the shop before you start drooling."

Remus opened the door without replying. It was no hardship to let the boy have the last word. At school, when Sirius got in one of his moods, he'd argue his opinion with anyone—for hours if need be—to get the last word. James said he figured it was because Mrs. Black always insisted on having the final say. As Will seemed to react in a similar manner to authority figures, Remus decided it would be best not to present himself in that light.

"This place smells like Muggles," said Will, his eyes darting back and forth over metal wall cladding and cabinets that ran the length of the shop.

Remus thought Will looked like a spooked horse. "Describe the smell."

"Stale air. Sickness. Cigarettes. Muggles stink."

One of the shop customers was an elderly man who laboured to breathe as he shuffled along. Another smelled heavily of tobacco. "Not all of them," said Remus, gesturing to the fresh-faced girl manning the sandwich and meal preparation area behind a display cabinet. She smiled at Will.

The boy looked around, realised she was smiling at him, and warily returned the smile. "I'm only being polite," he said out of the side of his mouth. "I'm not getting close enough to say whether or not she stinks like the rest."

"Muggles don't bite," Remus murmured.

"That isn't what the Quibbler says," Will shot back. "Some Muggles pretend they're vampires." Green eyes narrowed. "From what I can see, that girl's got pointy canine teeth."

Remus was amused. "Some pretend they're werewolves," he said. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

He strolled forward. "Good morning. What are this week's specials?"

Even with a discount, Remus had to choose packets of beef mince, frying steak, and stewing beef over costlier cuts of brisket and steak.

Will pointed to a display of Rib eye steak. "That looks good."

Quite expensive, too, thought Remus. He said, "The sirloin is a better value." He asked the girl to add three of the steaks to their order.

"Did you have to bring up price?" Will said in a low, embarrassed tone. "Why don't you announce that we're poor werewolves barely scraping a living!"

"I'm not one for dramatics," Remus said dryly, "and while I do not mind being considered poor, I'd rather not be viewed as mental. Muggles don't believe werewolves are real, remember?"

"Yeah." Will's smile was predatory. "Stupid and smelly. They're sheep, just like Greyback says."

Why was it that humans looked down on others to raise their own self-image? Remus had once hoped that werewolves would be less inclined to prejudice having suffered it themselves, but such was not the case. Since arguing gained nothing, Remus chose another way to get his view across. While the shop clerk totalled the order, he asked, "Are you working your way through university, Miss?"

"No," she said. "I left school at fifteen."

"Why?" asked Will, in a tone that said "how could you be so stupid?"

The girl lifted her chin. "To take care of my Gran. Will there be anything else?"

Remus handed over the required currency. "No, thank you. I hope your Gran feels better soon."

"No chance of that. She's got cancer, but Gran won't give up her ciggys."

"Sorry," mumbled Will, before charging out of the shop.

When Remus walked outside, Will snapped, "I want to go home."

"We're not finished shopping."

"I am." Will's jaw was set. "I don't care about fruit and veg. Go find a greengrocer's by yourself."

"I don't know how you've avoided scurvy," said Remus. "Vitamin C is a required nutrient."

"I take vitamin tablets."

"Aside from that," Remus said, "You need to learn which fruits and vegetables are in season. Those will be the most economical. Lillie will thank you," he added, when Will opened his mouth.

Frustration, anger, and finally a grudging acceptance showed on the boy's face. "Can we get strawberries? Lillie likes those."

"You're in luck. With the advent of polytunnels, Muggle-grown strawberries are in season from mid-April to mid-December."

Will rolled his eyes. "And me without parchment to write that down."

Remus opened the carry bag and reached inside for a small notebook and pen.

"What's this?" Will said, lifting the small, metal cylinder. "A Muggle quill?"

"Press the top with your thumb," said Remus.

Will seemed to enjoy the clicking sound. He pressed the button numerous times. Click-click, click-click, click-click!

Remus regretted not purchasing a more expensive pen with a different mechanism. "I think you have the hang of it."

Will said, "I'd better practice to make sure."

Every step to the greengrocer's was punctuated by a click-click.

On the way home, Remus obliged when Will asked to stop by Delia Bowen's flat.

"If we give her the steaks, I won't be tempted to eat one," said Will.

Delia opened the door with a frown. "I didn't expect you back so soon." She looked beyond Will to Remus. "You paid for this?"

"We're flatmates," said Remus. "We share expenses."

The woman made a noise between a snort and a laugh. "The way Lillie contributes to this household, I suppose. As little as possible."

Remus said, "I have no complaints."

Will threw him a look of gratitude before extending the meat wrapped in butcher's paper. "Here you are, Mrs. Bowen."

She took the steaks. "I don't complain, either. My ex is hacked off that his princess is slumming on a council estate and I get to see Lillie now and then." Her accusing gaze focused on Will. "When she's not staying out to all hours."

The boy's smile looked sickly. "What time is dinner, Mrs. Bowen?"

"I'll expect you both at seven."

"I wasn't expecting an invitation," said Remus.

Her lips thinned. "If I thought you were, I wouldn't have invited you."

"We'll be here, Mrs. Bowen," said Will. He turned to Remus and widened his eyes meaningfully. "Won't we?"

It was impossible to decline gracefully. "Yes," he said. "Thank you for including me."

"Humph," said Delia. "Save your thanks until after dinner. I may burn your steak."

The moment the two men walked away from the flat, Will said, "Don't worry. She's not half bad at cooking. I don't think she'll burn the steak." The boy sniggered. "Not by accident, anyway."

"How reassuring."

Will took the pen out of his trouser pocket. "Want your Muggle quill back?" He grinned like a fiend as he depressed and released the top. Click-click, click-click!

Remus removed the pen from cheeky hands and gave it to a child drawing with chalk on the pavement.

The dinner with Delia and her daughter went smoothly while everyone concentrated on their food. It was only when conversation was attempted that the mood became tense. After Delia had grilled Will on his home-schooling curriculum and received terse answers, Lillie introduced a topic that made Remus blink in surprise.

"That was your girlfriend I met, right, Lupin?"

"My partner, yes."

Lillie slanted a glance at her mother before saying, "What does your partner do?"

"She's an enquiry agent."

Delia said, "The kind that takes pictures of cheaters?"

"She investigates insurance fraud as well."

"Sounds cool," said Will.

Remus smiled. "Her work is certainly more exciting than any of my professions have been."

"If she knows cheaters' tricks, she can use them," said Delia. "How can you be sure what's-her-name isn't cheating on you?"

Lillie rolled her eyes. "Gods, Mum, not everybody's an arsehole like Dad. Nym isn't short for Nymphomaniac." She turned to Remus, giggling. "Is it?"

"No." He looked at Delia. "I know because I trust her." To change the topic of conversation, he gave Lillie a half-smile. "I also trust that you picked up something for afters?"

She nodded. "I decided on a chocolate torte for dessert."

"Dessert, is it, Miss? Giving yourself airs like your father?"

Lillie made a production out of rolling her eyes. "It's a word, Mum, not a bloody class distinction."

"We always said 'what's for pudding' at my house," Will said, "but I don't care what it's called as long as I get to eat it."

"Neither do I," said Remus.

Delia rose to her feet. "Very well. I'll clear the dishes, Lillie, if you'll serve...dessert."

Remus stood. "We'll help you with the dishes."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll help," said Will.

Lillie laughed. "Look at that! Mum's speechless. You two have to come to dinner more often."

Remus smiled politely, thinking he would much rather have had a beef burger in peace, and no amount of steak would entice him back.

-

When Tonks ran down the path to Hogsmeade, she couldn't help but think that trousers and combat boots were less than optimal running gear. She didn't care how she looked. Her concern was blisters.

Although she wasn't the type who woke raring to lace up her trainers and go for a run, Tonks exercised because it was good for her. The benefits weren't just physical. When she ran, Tonks fell into a rhythm that helped clear her mind of stress and worry. Running also made her feel in control of her body and her life. Even if the feeling only lasted for the duration of the run, it was worth the effort.

That was why she kept running, even when she felt leather rubbing against her heel. Tonks needed to be in the place where nothing mattered except the scenery around her and her only concern was putting one foot in front of the other.

Her rising endorphin level affected her mood. On impulse, she kept running after reaching the village, not stopping until she reached the Hog's Head.

Dawlish looked up in surprise when she entered his office. "Is something wrong, Auror Tonks?"

"No, sir, the school is secure." She inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly. "I ran because...I want to request permission to Floo to London after my mid-day patrol."

"Your reason?"

Merlin only knew what he'd think if she told him she needed to pick up a couple of knives before her Potions lesson with Snape. He already believed she'd used her wiles on Scrimgeour. Tonks looked down at the floor. "It's...uh...a personal appointment, sir."

Dawlish cleared his throat. "Ah. Female matters. Permission granted."

If he thought she had a gynaecological appointment, Tonks wasn't about to inform him otherwise. "Thank you, sir."

"Good day," he said brusquely, poring over a file.

She found the grumpy-looking barkeep in the pub, reading The Daily Prophet. He waved his wand to send a dingy cloth winging over to polish the glasses.

"What cleaning spell do you use?" Tonks asked.

He glanced up for a moment before returning his attention to the paper. "Don't need spells. The cloth is charmed."

"Recently?"

A glass mug fell to the bar with a thud. "Are you volunteering cleaning services?"

"No, but you could use a cleaning lady," Tonks said frankly. "The place smells like goat."

"I like goats."

"You are a goat," she said beneath her breath.

"What was that?"

There was no possible way he could have heard her. Tonks said, "Nothing. I've got to go."

Halfway out the door she heard, "If I'm a goat, you're a she-wolf."

Tonks whirled around. "What was that?"

Behind his grey beard, it was impossible to tell whether the barkeep was smirking when he said, "Nothing."

-

In London, Tonks stepped out of the Diagon Alley floo and went straight to Kitchenalia, her mother's favourite shop. Inside, she found silver knives for cheese, fruit, bread, and cake, but none suitable for making Wolfsbane Potion. At the apothecary shop down the street, the clerk said that he would be happy to special-order silver and obsidian knives. She was reaching into her bag for the Galleons to pay when the thought struck to ask about same-day delivery.

There wasn't any.

Desperate times called for dodgy measures. Tonks sent her Patronus ahead to ensure that Mundungus would answer the door when she knocked.

When she Apparated to the run-down side-street off Knockturn Alley, Tonks only had to pound on the door for a couple of minutes before her self-proclaimed "Uncle Dungie" answered.

"Do you have more locks on the door than you did the last time I visited?" Tonks asked.

"Mebbe." He shuffled into the lounge and pointed to a kettle on a side table. "Be mother, Tonksie."

She went to pour tea. "If I didn't need a favour, I'd Scourgify your mouth out, Dung. How many times do I have to tell you it's just Tonks?"

"Yer cruel to yer Uncle Dungie, but if yeh add a splash o' whisky, I'll forgive everythin'."

Tonks picked up a silver flask off the side table. "This has the Black family crest on it."

"Sirius wanted me to have it."

His baggy eyes were so doleful, she almost believed him. Tonks handed Dung a mug of tea. "I need two knives for potions making," she said. "Obsidian and silver. Got any?"

The rascal's gaze flickered to the left. "I don't deal much in knives."

"Liar," she said, pointing her wand at the trunks and crates stacked upon each other on the left side of the room. "If you want me help you search, I'll be glad to dump every one of those onto the floor."

"No, no! I might have a knife or two."

She laughed when he opened a trunk lid. "A knife or two? You have enough to open your own shop!"

"Regulations, taxes, paperwork—that's not my cup o' tea," said Dung. "I prefer to remain an independent businessman."

"You mean crook."

He caught the amusement in her voice and grinned. "Is that any way to talk to the man who's givin' yeh a family discount?"

She pointed. "Find the knives for me, Uncle."

"I've knives with silver caps or silver handles, but only one I've nic—acquired is solid silver. Not much of a market for 'em." He drew a blade from a leather sheath.

Tonks could tell that the dagger was much older than its covering. There were runes on the handle, and the end was carved into a wolf's head. It wasn't a wolf from nature. It was a wolf from mythology, with a long tongue that passed between its fangs and ended at its throat. "Terrible and beautiful," she said. "I'll take it."

"The knife's antique-like. Even for family, the cost is steep."

She gave her money-grubbing uncle a steady look. "Then make me a deal on the obsidian."

"Done." All but rubbing his hands together in glee, Dung picked out three knives. He laid them upon the side table. "I won these off a bloke from Mexico. Take yer pick."

Black, brown, green-gold: which to choose? The first two had handles made of what looked like antler. The green-gold blade had a haft of wood. Tonks lifted each one and pretended to chop. The wooden handle had the best grip. It also didn't make her feel guilty thinking of James Potter's Animagus form.

"This one," she said. "It's a pretty colour."

He named a price that was a few sickles higher than she would have paid through the apothecary. It was worth it not to wait. Tonks took out her money pouch, keeping her hand on the drawstring. "No offence, but I have to cast a couple of spells to make sure these aren't Dark objects."

Mundungus held up a cloth she assumed unrolled to store knives. "Anythin' for a valued customer," he said.

"I thought I was family."

"Yer both."

She shook her head, smiling. "Thanks, Dung."

He waited until the door closed behind her to say, "Yer welcome, Tonksie!"

-

By the time of her lesson with Snape, Tonks' mood was as dark as the night sky. Remus had laughed when she had described his dinner as "cosy," but she wasn't so sure Lillie's mum didn't have her eye on him. Age, looks, and disposition aside, the woman wasn't blind. Remus was very fanciable.

He assured her there was no reason to "show her claws" as she put it. When she met Delia, she would feel pity, not jealousy.

When Tonks insisted that she wasn't jealous, Remus said, "Good, because I would have much rather spent my evening with you."

As she pounded on the iron-bound door of dungeon five, Tonks admitted to herself that she'd lied. She was jealous. Not of people, exactly—she was jealous of the time they spent with Remus. Time she wanted to spend with him but couldn't.

"Enter."

The chamber was bare except for a worktable and a few enchanted torches. Tonks looked at the man who was supposed to be her teacher. "I was aware this was 'bring your own blades,' but you never said to haul a cauldron and ingredients as well."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "You are not brewing a solution to cure boils. Wolfsbane Potion is of complexity that challenges the skill of apothecaries." His lip curled. "You are an Auror who has not brewed a potion since seventh year. Therefore, until you regain proficiency in basic skills, there will be no lessons." He gestured to the table. "Display your knives."

She set down the case and unfastened the straps.

"How did you come by these?" Snape said sharply.

Crap. She had hoped he wouldn't ask. "Mundungus Fletcher."

"Hmm..." He touched the silver wolf's head. "Interesting choice."

"He didn't have one with a pretty deer on the handle. I took what he had."

Snape ran a fingertip over the runes. "Do you know the meaning of these?"

"No."

"Likely the inscription was meant to be a charm of some kind." Snape lifted the dagger and set it down. "Protection or luck."

She laughed a little. "I could use both."

"You may need both," said Snape, reaching for the obsidian knife. "There was no provenance for these items, correct?"

"Yeah—I mean no. He said he got it off a bloke from Mexico."

"Naturally. It is a prismatic blade."

"A what?"

He flashed an impatient look. "A specialised lithic flake—" he saw her blank stare and broke off. Exhaling sharply, he said, "Twice as long as it is wide, thin, sharp, often used in ritualised sacrifice."

"Human sacrifice? Impossible. I checked the blade. It isn't a Dark object."

"Human sacrifice was considered worship, not Dark." Snape waved his wand over the knife. Nothing happened.

She said, "Was there supposed to be a flash?"

"Only if the blade had taken human life," said Snape. "Sacrifice of animals or autosacrifice—bloodletting—may have been its function." He contemplated the knife, saying, "Perhaps you should trade this knife for another. I have a black—"

"—no thanks, I like the colour, and the history doesn't bother me."

For an instant, the expression on Snape's face reminded her of Cousin Lora when she was ten and Tonks wouldn't trade marbles. His features smoothed into inscrutability. "Very well. In light of your own history, if you decide to reconsider..."

What an arse, implying that the blood magic she'd done to be with Remus on full moons was the same as autosacrifice! Did he think she should give up the blade so it wouldn't remind her of what she'd done, or because she'd be tempted to work more blood magic? Either way, Tonks felt like giving Snape something: a hex. It was a struggle to say civilly, "I'll keep you in mind."

He inclined his head. "Take your knives to the kitchen. A House-elf will instruct you."

The elf was Kreacher. She was struck by the black humour of the situation, even if she didn't appreciate it. "Did you draw the short straw, or was this Snape's idea?"

"Professor Snape requested Kreacher's assistance." He gasped when she unrolled the knives. "The green obsidian is beautiful."

Her eyes fell to pale scars on his forearms. Ah, hell. Was it the colour that attracted him, or was he drawn because of his history of bloodletting worship to his personal goddess, Mrs. Black? Tonks couldn't tell and didn't want to know. She said, "Show me how to use it."

-

-

A/N: Butcher shops, the use of obsidian in mesoamerica, and a late 8th century AD silver knife mount found in the Thames and displayed at the British Museum aren't usually grouped together, heh, but they were this week when I had fun with research to write this chapter. MollyCoddles made me snicker at the though of 'Bring Your Own Blades' so of course I had to use the line. :D If any errors are spotted, it isn't WriterMerrin's fault. I didn't finish the chapter until Friday morning, so she didn't get a chance to beta. Lo siento mucho!

The people I would have been sorry not to enjoy reviews from last chapter were...40/16, alix33, Calenmarwen, caraj316, cream-tea-anyone, ElspethBates, Enorance, Erica, FNP, Freja Lercke-Falkenborg, Io.sono.Emilia, ishandtwofourths, Jeland, Ladyofthebookworms, lbf1412, MollyCoddles, Moontime, n1264, Operamuse, RahNee, siriuslycrazy4snuffles, Sivaroobini Lupin-Black, Sophia Loren, sunny9847, tambrathegreat, UnderworldBabe, waterdreamer, WriterMerrin, your nightmare and Ziroana.