Author's note: I plan to update this story every week or so, one to even two chapters a week (I write a lot and fast, though I am sure there will be weeks when I cannot update as quickly). I update quicker or more regularly when you write reviews though! *shameless grin* Please also check out my other fics. They are almost completed, but…leave reviews! And, as always, requests are welcome. I will try to incorporate ideas. *hearts and smiles*
Oh! And also. Many other side notes I could share if people are interested, but for now, I'll mention why I have this set in NYC. It's simple. I'm from NYC, and since this is going to be a multi-part fic with slow build romance and plot, etc., I think environment and context are very important to the story. I have no concrete knowledge of Britain and even though we all love those Britishisms that make HP world so charming to all of us Americans, I felt to make things as authentic as possible for me as a writer, I needed to have the main character, Tonks, be from NYC and for most of the action to take place there. Plus I wanted to have some of this have a film-noir or crime novel kind of feel (without being gratuitously about 'crime,' more of a political takedown story)…or even a downtrodden superhero feel (think Jessica Jones, whom I love)…and NYC is a traditional setting for that. Finally, HP isn't the most diverse world, and I really wanted to put that world a little more in a real-world context in that way.
FAKE LATIN WARNING FOR THIS STORY, haha. You'll see. It would be such a useful spell, though.
Back to the story! *hugs*
Early the next morning, Tonks was in a terrible mood. She couldn't quite understand why. She didn't want to understand. She knew, vaguely, as sleep was still fogging her mind, that it had something to do with…with…
With the past sleeping on her couch.
No. This was not ok.
Tonks had lived alone for a long time and, besides her friends like the Lees, connected to her job; besides the children whom she loved but were not, well, were not her peers; besides Moody who was never going to overly involve himself in her emotional life (something she appreciated about him, his respect for her privacy and independence); Tonks had no acquaintances, friendly or intimate. She didn't even know how to move around space in the most basic of ways with another human being in the vicinity of her private quarters. She just couldn't. But she was going to have to now.
Her skin began to itch. Sweat started to pool at her neck, under her arms and, for Merlin's sake, behind her knees. She was angry. Furious in fact.
There was no logic to it, or rationale, at least not one that she was in a position to fathom at the moment. All she knew was that this person on the couch was agitating parts of her she didn't think existed anymore. Tonks was in no mind to sort it out, logically, emotionally. She just had to — holy shit, it was already 6 A.M.! Remus had somehow made her (how, exactly, she couldn't say) sleep in 2 hours. No time to exercise, damn it, barely time to feed her cats and get to the diner on time to meet Moody. Well. She'd just have to expedite her morning routine. Before that, though, Tonks made sure to jot a mental note to herself: eliminate all distractions from your minimally established contentment; especially distractions in the form of werewolf men; especially werewolf men who assume the guise of old flames, and who are in turn sleeping on your couch; and definitely rid yourself of the ones satisfying the aforementioned conditions who, in addition, not only are named after but are also, in fact and in Auror-vetted honest to goodness reality, one, Remus Lupin.
But for now. Tonks flicked her wand over the opposite side of the room, casting a swift silencing spell. She ran into her kitchen to get her cats their breakfast. Opening their little corridor, they came tumbling out, mewing with hunger and happiness to see her. Tonks laid down their bowls, distracted, and on second thought cast a further spell around Remus's side of the room, one of the most useful spells in her arsenal, and one of the only really obscure household-y spells she knew. 'Felinus nihilus!' Litter, scratches, screeches, flying fur, and all other kinds of cat catastrophe big and small would now not affect the other half of the room. The last thing she needed in her life was a cat on werewolf fight. Especially since the fight would in no way be fair. Her cats would definitely win.
She cleaned up after her cats, taking out their litter the Muggle way (believe it or not it was more efficient and precise, since wand magic couldn't separate the dirty from the clean litter with any reasonable degree of accuracy…well, Molly Weasley surely would be able to accomplish the task, but, alas, there were few witches more opposite to Tonks in terms of their housewifely orientation and pizazz than Molly Weasley…Merlin, she hadn't thought of Molly in a long while. Another reason Remus was not welcome here, she half-thought as she popped into the shower). By the time she was finished with her cats and they were purring contentedly, grooming one another and lying lazily on the floor; by the time she was finished in the shower (no time at all); by the time she threw on her clothes from the previous day (negative time wasted on that); she took a moment to marvel at the fact that her hair and eyes were taking longer than usual to settle for the day — eyes switching from green to purple, hair from fire engine red to cornflower yellow.
Whatever. She had to get going. Tonks glanced over at Remus, as indifferently as she possibly could. Still asleep. Better for him. And for her.
Still, Tonks froze. Should she wake him? Should she send Moody a patronus, and tell him the circumstances? He'd understand if for that reason she needed to break her appointment. He'd be anxious, as was she, somewhere deep inside, to know the circumstances of Remus's injuries from the previous night. Also, Tonks was loathe to admit it, but she felt a strong inclination to make Remus breakfast. She used to love fussing over him at Grimmauld Place…In fact, her overdeveloped concern for his comfort leading up to and after the full moon (now one more night to go), and for his nutritional needs during all other of the moon's phases, clued in some of the more observant Order members to Tonks's unspoken feelings for the understated werewolf. She remembered one time when she nearly exploded the entire stove when…
No. Now was not time for a trip down memory lane. Remus was an adult. He could fend for himself. Tonks needed to focus on what she needed to do for the day. It was only half her fault that she and Remus never kept in touch after the war. When she needed him most…
No. He could sleep then do however he chose. His injuries were no longer threatening. Besides, she'd be back that evening. Remus could wait, if he wanted, until then. Tonks didn't want to think about it any longer. So she bid her cats farewell and exited the apartment into the crisp December air.
Arriving at the diner 10 minutes later following a brisk walk, she saw Moody already there, huddled with Mark Lee at the counter. From the looks of the way he was stabbing his pancakes, Moody was not a happy camper.
Not that she'd ever describe him as a 'happy camper.' A vigilant one, perhaps. But never quite happy. One of the terrible, some might say downright mean, traditions she and Moody had: once every month or so, they'd order some takeout and sit down at his place to watch television reruns recorded by Moody. They were videos that he'd show his trainees on the 'lighter' days of teaching, during the unit on Muggle navigation and rescue. They'd laugh so hard, tears would roll down their cheeks — er, Tonks's cheeks…the tears were more metaphorical in Moody's case — watching the Muggles — the 'happy campers' — in the videos set out snapping selfies of themselves at hiking landmarks, in national parks, without any knowledge besides what they'd seen on an online instructional video; without any provisions of which to speak; these were mostly men who were trying to impress their girlfriends…extra laughter was granted the narratives that ended with bear attacks and alligator snappings. Some might say that Moody and Tonks had twisted senses of humor. Sure, the real point of the videos for the trainees was to watch the American Wizarding Rangers, a branch of the United States Auror Service, skillfully extricate Muggles from these situations, without revealing anything of the Magical world. Still, it was really hard to watch the videos with a straight face. And Moody always took special interest in the trainees who had the sense to find the videos funny, despite the fact that he himself scowled throughout their training. He swore to Tonks that the rare ones who laughed, despite the intimidating Auror atmosphere, who laughed at these presentations always made the best, most intelligent, creative Aurors. It was important to Moody, and to Tonks, that you can't help but find people's unfounded bravado and their subsequent embarrassment oh so satisfying. It kept you…skeptical, on guard. Not taken in by authority and by respect for the emotions you were 'supposed' to exhibit. It showed you didn't give a damn about what other people wanted you to be, just for the sake of keeping order.
'Tonks,' Moody growled, 'you're two minutes late.' 'Sorry, Mad-Eye, I was banking on you getting that extra hour of beauty rest. I thought you yourself would be the late one.' 'Alright, lassie, it's too early for your attitude. And you can't afford it anyway, not after you deferred our conversation from last night to this morning. We have a lot to cover.' 'And, you know, you can hardly afford missing that beauty rest. Hi, Mark,' Tonks nodded to Mark Lee as she hung up her coat on the coat hanger next to the bar, and sat down at the stool. 'Good morning, Miss Tonks. My, you look nice this morning.' 'What, I —' Tonks stopped mid-sentence and, stunned and disturbed, confronted her reflection in the wall-sized mirror behind the counter. Her hair was a soft auburn, her eyes were a light green. 'What the…' she muttered. Moody gave her a sideways glance, magical eye whirling, but all he said was, 'Back to business, team.'
'Tonks,' Mr. Lee began. 'Tonks. We have some…disturbing information about…about the origins of Angela's…her drawing.' 'Oh?' Tonks looked from Moody to Mr. Lee and back again. 'Is it…?' 'It's exactly what we were expecting, except worse.' Moody gestured to the tray Mr. Lee was setting out in front of her. 'First. You're going to need some coffee for this. Or something.'