Chapter 8: Curiosity Is Not A Sin

Two months had passed, yet Tonks couldn't shake the weight of Remus's departure. Each Order meeting had been a painful reminder, and Molly Weasley had offered only fleeting words of comfort. "Give him time, Nymphadora. He'll come around," Molly would say, as if time itself could erase the raw ache in her heart. She trusted Molly—who had, in many ways, become a second mother to her—but something about her words always felt too hopeful, too far from the truth.

Remus had attended only one meeting in those two long months, and not once did he speak to her, as per his unspoken request. He looked frail, his weariness betraying the toll the war had taken on him. She longed to reach out, to embrace him, to take care of him. But the cruel truth echoed in her mind: Remus didn't want her in his life, not in the way she wished.

Patrols had become an endless cycle of monotony. Night after night, she trudged through the empty corridors, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls. A solitary distraction had once been Snape's presence—those brief, sharp exchanges that had offered a strange kind of solace. Lately, though, Snape had grown distant, colder than usual. He had started avoiding her, his responses clipped, his presence fleeting. What had she done? What had changed? It gnawed at her.

Tonight, Tonks decided she would break the silence. If Snape wasn't going to check in with her, she would go to him. The thought of confronting him sent a shiver through her, but she couldn't leave the mystery lingering any longer. Perhaps it was time to find out just where she stood in his eyes—if he even cared enough to tell her.

The Hogwarts staff meeting that evening had been a predictable affair. Snape, along with the rest of the professors, gathered in the Transfiguration classroom, a rare moment of camaraderie amid the bleakness of their world.

"Severus, I saved you a seat," McGonagall called across the room, her voice warm with genuine affection.

Snape, despite the shadow that seemed to cling to him, gave a small, appreciative nod and crossed the room to join her.

"Minerva," he said, lowering himself into the chair beside her. "I trust your day has been tolerable?"

McGonagall didn't miss the way he looked, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. "You look absolutely exhausted. Have you had any rest?"

"Not much," Snape admitted with a sigh, rubbing his forearm, his fingers lingering just above the dark mark that burned beneath his sleeve. "Summoned at the oddest times lately. Rest is a luxury I can no longer afford."

McGonagall's expression softened with sympathy, her hand settling on his shoulder in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. "Severus, if you need it, I could cover your patrol tonight. I know it's been… difficult for you."

He gave her a tired look. "I'm fine, Minerva. But thank you. Your kindness is appreciated."

McGonagall hesitated, glancing at the clock. "Speaking of patrols, what time do you need to meet Tonks tonight?"

Snape frowned. "I wouldn't know. I've never helped her into the grounds."

McGonagall blinked in confusion. "I always assumed you did."

The two exchanged a puzzled glance before Snape stood, making his way to the other professors. "Which of you has been letting Tonks into the school grounds?"

The room was met with awkward silence, and the professors exchanged uncertain glances.

"Has no one been doing this?" Snape asked, his frustration creeping into his voice. He sank back into his chair, muttering under his breath, "I suppose I'll have to ask her directly."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you don't want me to cover for you?"

"I'm certain," Snape replied, his tone clipped. "I cannot abandon my duties." He glanced at McGonagall, a fleeting look of gratitude in his eyes. "But I appreciate your offer."

McGonagall smiled softly, patting his shoulder once more. "If you ever need help with anything, Severus, you need only ask. You've done so much for us all, and I'd be honored to assist."

Snape, despite his usual aversion to touch, felt the warmth of her words sink deep. He had never allowed many people close to him, but McGonagall was an exception—a true ally.

Snape couldn't help but feel an undeniable ache in his chest as he soaked in every moment with Minerva. Her presence, warm and steady, was a rare solace in a world that had become increasingly fractured. Her laugh, the way she spoke with such ease and care, was a stark contrast to the darkness that loomed ever closer around him. He found himself drinking in her words, her gestures, every fleeting glance she cast in his direction.

In just several months, the truth would be known, and Minerva—this strong, steadfast woman who had always been a friend, a confidante—would see him for what he truly was. A murderer. A traitor. The one who had betrayed the very people she loved, including the one person she had trusted most in the world—Albus Dumbledore. That thought hit him like a physical blow each time it crept into his mind, making it almost impossible to breathe.

He longed to hold on to these fleeting moments, to somehow freeze them in time before the truth, like an unforgiving tidal wave, swept everything away. He couldn't escape the sense of inevitability, the crushing weight of the future bearing down on him. He would lose Minerva, just as he had lost so many others. The thought of her looking at him with nothing but disgust, with the same betrayal that had become his own bitter companion, filled him with a hollow emptiness.

Dumbledore arrived, and the meeting began, but Snape's thoughts remained elsewhere.

Tonks, meanwhile, wandered the silent halls, each footstep amplifying the hollow ache in her chest. She couldn't stop glancing at the clock, waiting for the moment when Snape would come to do his rounds. Her thoughts were consumed with him. And yet, despite the months of awkward distance, she couldn't bring herself to let it go. The nights they had shared—whether filled with sharp wit or unexpected vulnerability—were precious to her. And now, they seemed to be slipping away, leaving behind only an empty void.

She had to know why. She had to understand.

With determination, she made her way toward the dungeons, her pulse quickening as she approached the seventh floor corridor. And then, as though summoned by her thoughts, Snape appeared before her, his tired eyes sharp with the unmistakable edge of exhaustion.

"How was your night?" Tonks asked, her voice soft but probing. She could see the weariness in him, the dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Uneventful," Snape replied tersely, his voice a low murmur. He looked like he had barely slept in days. "And yours?"

"Same," Tonks answered, her heart thudding. She hesitated for a moment, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been eating at her. "Have you been avoiding me?"

Snape's lip curled into a faint sneer, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "What would make you think that?" he asked, his voice tight with restraint.

Tonks, her throat dry, pressed on. "Well… I thought we were getting along, and then suddenly, nothing. It's been two months, Severus. I was just wondering if I did something."

For a brief moment, Snape's harsh mask faltered, and the flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—passed through his dark eyes. "I have more pressing matters to attend to than patrol duty, Nymphadora. You of all people should understand the burden of leading a double life," he snapped, but the edge in his voice was softer than usual.

Tonks flinched, her cheeks reddening. His words stung more than she expected, but she swallowed the hurt. "I understand," she said, quieter now. "I know what it's like to hide pieces of yourself. It's not easy. But if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Snape's gaze softened ever so slightly as he took in her worn appearance—her once-vibrant hair now a dull brown, her face too pale, the weariness in her eyes mirroring his own. "How are you feeling?" he asked, the question uncharacteristically gentle.

"I've been better," Tonks admitted with a forced smile, the words falling out of her mouth like a lie she could no longer keep. "I'm just… I'm not who I was."

"None of us are who we once were," Snape said, his voice low and measured, carrying the weight of years lived in shadows. They were standing in the cold stone corridorl, his black eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "That is the nature of war. It strips us of our innocence, leaving nothing but pain, disillusionment, and a certain... darkness. It matures us, often before our time, and leaves scars that cannot be erased." His words hung heavy in the air, as though he were speaking from a place far beyond Tonks' own understanding.

Snape's eyes flickered for a moment, betraying a brief glimpse of something unreadable—perhaps pity, perhaps frustration—but his expression quickly hardened, locking away whatever emotion had dared to surface. He remained impassive, his mask of indifference firmly in place. The words seemed to weigh heavy in the air between them, but he ignored the tension, choosing to bury it beneath the coldness that had always been his shield.

"To change the subject," Snape continued, his voice sharp and controlled, "who has been aiding you into the castle every night?" The crispness of his tone left no room for warmth, his dark gaze steady and unyielding as he waited for her answer.

Tonks smirked, crossing her arms. "Well, answering your question would go against everything I stand for," she teased, her voice laced with mischief.

Snape raised an eyebrow, an impatient flicker crossing his features. "Meaning?"

"You're the last person I'd tell my secrets to, Snape," she said, the playful defiance in her tone clearly mocking him.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Enough with the games. I'm not in the mood for your childish antics. Tell me, where's the passageway?"

Tonks leaned back, enjoying the tension she was creating. "Oh, no can do," she said, grinning slyly. "You're a rule-breaker's nightmare. I can't betray my fellow troublemakers, can I?"

The tension crackled between them. Snape, clearly losing patience, decided to take matters into his own hands. He muttered a soft incantation, and Tonks felt a chill settle over her mind as Snape delved into her thoughts.

"Legilimens."

Tonks gasped, a sharp prickling sensation crawling across her mind. She instantly recognized the intrusion, the familiar feeling of someone rifling through her memories. But she had been trained by Moody. She clenched her mental shields, pushing back with everything she had.

But before she could block him completely, a fleeting memory flashed through Snape's mind—Tonks, in Remus' cardigan, curled up with her face buried in the fabric, tears staining the fabric as she sobbed quietly to herself.

"How dare you try to invade my thoughts!" Tonks cried, fury blazing in her eyes.

Snape, for a moment, seemed taken aback. He hesitated, his voice laced with something akin to regret. "Forgive me, Nymphadora. I… I am overwhelmed. It won't happen again."

Tonks stood there, stunned. Severus Snape, apologizing to her? The world felt like it had flipped upside down. "I forgive you, but this makes us even."

Snape nodded, a silent understanding passing between them.

And then, as if by instinct, Tonks seized the opportunity. "I'll tell you the passage's location," she said, her voice shifting to one of playful negotiation. "But you have to answer ten personal questions about yourself first."

Snape, incredulous, raised an eyebrow. "I'll do no such thing. My personal life is private."

Tonks crossed her arms, defiant. "Just a suggestion, Professor. Goodnight."

As she turned to walk away, she felt his stare burning into her back. Snape was clearly torn—his desire for the passageway at war with his need to keep his secrets. But Tonks knew he would eventually give in.

And he did. "Five," Snape called after her, his voice strained.

Tonks paused, a victorious smile tugging at her lips. "Twelve," she shouted back, "seeing as you tried to read my mind."

Snape's face darkened, but he relented. "Fine. Ten it is." His voice was low and reluctant, but there was no turning back now.

Tonks turned on her heel, unable to hide the triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Tomorrow night, then. After patrol," she said, her voice teasing. "And I'll bring the Firewhisky."

Snape's hand raked through his hair in frustration. "Until then. Goodnight, Nymphadora."

As they parted ways, both of them knew that tomorrow night would bring them closer to uncharted territory—territory neither of them were ready for.