Chapter 2: Friends

Remus follows with interest as I lead him up the winding stairs to my flat on the top floor. No, now don't go jumping to any conclusions, we have just come back from a trip to Diagon Alley to get Remus' broomstick serviced for tommorow (we are going to rescue Harry, finally getting to meet the kid I risk my neck for most days!) and I wanted to change before we went to Grimmauld for a meeting.

"Now don't look at the mess, o.k." I say, trying to find my key in my numerous coat pockets, "I hate cleaning, no wait, I can't clean. Last time I tried to clean, I ended up having to buy a whole new dinner plate set."

"I'll let you off then," Remus chuckles. I finally find the key (it is a muggle building) and unlock the door, motioning for Remus to go in first. He does so, his face lighting up at the sight of my multi-coloured, half-painted walls.

"Couldn't decide what colour," I explained,

"Ah. I like it, it very... very you." He turns and smiles at me as I step through, no, bloody hell, trip through my front door. Luckily Remus is a lot quicker than he looks and he manages to grab my arm and save me some of my dignity (If I even have any left that is) by stopping me from falling flat on my face in front of him...again.

"Blasted threshold, I swear it's had it in for me ever since I moved here." I say, regaining my balance and pulling myself out of his tight grasp (not that I didn't like him holding my arm).

"Hmm, are you sure its not just you being your clumsy self?" he asks, eyes twinkling. His eyes always twinkle when he teases me,

"Spose it could be that yes," I say, turning my nose up into the air and kicking the door shut with my foot. I push past him and chuck my coat onto the sofa, "Make yourself at home, I won't be long."

"Oh, alright." He answers, plonking himself down on the sofa and putting his feet up on the small, ever so slightly wonky coffee table. Well, he took that literally.

"Do you want some music on or something?"

"Uh." He looks concerned, "What music?"

I can't help but laugh. Perhaps thirty something ex-professors aren't very fond of my kind of music.

"I know I sound like an old git, but I do rather like my sense of hearing."

"Look on the shelves," I say, pointing to a bookshelf that was packed with records rather than books, "I'm sure you'll find something."

I wink at him and then head for my bedroom, which takes all of three steps in my small studio flat. My bedroom is just as multi-coloured as my livingroom, but it is also covered in posters, rather like a teenager's room. I like it. The room consists of a double bed, a wardrobe and a large mirror, covered in photos of different things and people.

I peel off my jeans and t-shirt and discard them on the floor, promsing to clean them up later (because I will...) and head over to my wardrobe. It doesn't take me long to decide what to wear, I know my style. I finish getting dressed and then take a look in the mirror, trying to decide what to do with my hair and wondering whether this skirt is a little too short, nah it covers everything up; its fine, don't be a prude. So, it doesn't take me long to get dressed, but it does take me ages to decide what to do about my hair.

It's great being a meamorphmagus (except for when you get assholes leering at you, dreaming about what you could look like) but it has its problems, i.e. the endless possibilities. I go through green, red, bright orange, neon yellow and then a nice patch of purple catches my eye on the wall. That's nice. I change my spiky locks to a vivid purple. No that still isn't right. I crinkle my nose once again and in seconds, my hair is shoulder length and layered. I like that, I will have to remember this one.

Finally I return to the living room to find Remus still pouring over my extensive record collection.

"Still undecided?" I ask, he turns and looks at me with utter bewilderment,

"Tonks, who are these people?" he wonders, looking lost (please stop looking lost).

I approach him and stand on my tip-toes to look over his shoulder, "Who's who?" I ask, confused.

"All these, I have never heard of any of them! The Clash? The Undertones? And what on earth is that Sex Pistols thing?"

I grin at him in amazement, "You have never heard of the Sex Pistols?"

"No, I haven't." He says matter-of-factly.

This is unbelievable, the man hasn't lived!

"Give it here," I say, reaching over him to retrieve the record. I then place the record onto the player and posistion the needle.

Next thing, Anarchy for the U.K is blaring out, echoing around the flat. Remus' face scrunches up in disgust and I laugh out loud, taking the needle off the record, my ears still ringing,

"Not to your taste?"

"Not exactly." He admits with a small smile, "I happen to like more civilised music,"

"Ah, I see." I smirk at him,

"Gosh you must think I'm such an old coot!" he laughs,

"No." I answer, "You are not an old coot at all, you're a boring old coot."

He shakes his head at me, "Well, with all due respect, I'd rather be a boring old coot than a young, overly hyperactive punk with a talent for being clumsy and insulting her friends."

"Friends?" I ask, my head tilting to the side. I guess we have gotton very close over the few months since I joined the order. Remus, Sirius and I had become a unit of sorts, a unit full of laughter and taking the piss without meaning any of it. I guess that is friendship.

"Of course. Unless you don't want a boring old coot like myself as a friend."

"Remus Lupin, you are not a boring old coot!"

He looks confused,

"But you said- what am I then?"

I smile at him, a big, perhaps cheesy smile,

"My friend." I reply