Chapter Text
The doorbell buzzed through the silence, but no answer came. Only the dull echo faded somewhere deep inside the flat.
Nymphadora Tonks bit her lip, tapping the toe of her worn-out trainer against the chipped tiles of the landing.
Come on, Sirius, don’t let me down.
She pressed the button again, this time a little harder, as if that might somehow summon her cousin to the door. Silence.
Yesterday, on the phone, Sirius had sworn he’d be in. Or his "new-old" flatmate, as he’d called him. But Sirius’s voice, soaked in suspicious euphoria, had sounded more like someone halfway through his second bottle of whisky, unlikely to remember much of anything he’d promised. Tonks rolled her eyes, recalling his words: "Oh, come on, Tonks, just come over, it'll be sound!"
Yeah. ‘Sound’. Sure.
She rested her forehead against the cold surface of the black door, feeling a wave of frustration creep up her throat. Travelling across the whole city — two buses and a tube ride, with a sweaty, cheap-perfume-scented transfer — and for what? To stare at peeling paint? If Sirius wasn’t in, she’d have to haul herself all the way back, another two hours wasted. A day she could’ve spent looking for another part-time gig. Or at the very least sleeping. Straight down the drain.
Why today of all days? she groaned inwardly, thumping her fist against the door. Loudly. The sound echoed down the empty stairwell, but no reply came. Tonks sighed, adjusted the strap of her backpack, already about to turn and leave — when a raspy voice called out from inside: "Coming."
Oh, thank god.
She immediately straightened up, quickly tucking a loose strand of electric-blue fringe behind her ear. Her fingers brushed over her wrinkled T-shirt, trying in vain to smooth it out — might as well try to look somewhat presentable. Her heart picked up pace, betraying her anticipation. If she was lucky, she’d get to have a look at the room from the listing, the one they were renting out for the summer.
The door creaked open, and Tonks beamed her trademark smile — the one that usually got people smiling back without even thinking.
"Hi! Is Sirius in?" she blurted out, rising onto her toes to peer past him into the dim corridor. Maybe her cousin was just napping on the sofa?
"I’m afraid he’s not," the man replied. His voice was low, with a touch of gravel to it.
Tonks let out a breath and looked properly at the stranger.
He was about the same age as Sirius, but that’s where the similarities ended. His fair hair, sun-bleached at the ends, stuck out in all directions like he’d just rolled out of bed and hadn’t bothered with a mirror. His pale blue eyes, dulled by tiredness, squinted slightly at her, like he was trying to remember whether he’d left the oven on. He wore red-and-black check pyjama bottoms — crumpled, like he’d been living in them for days — and a beige shirt, buttoned so haphazardly one button was left flapping in mid-air, while another had clearly been skipped. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing lean forearms dotted with old scars that Tonks couldn’t help but notice. He looked like someone pulled either from deep sleep or deep thought — and judging by the furrow between his brows, the latter was his default.
Seriously? Who sleeps at three in the afternoon? she thought, giving him another quick once-over. His posture — slightly hunched, one hand resting on the doorframe — made it perfectly clear he’d rather be anywhere else than standing here talking to her.
Sirius had mentioned once, vaguely, that an old school friend had moved in after some "personal stuff," but hadn’t elaborated — and Tonks hadn’t cared.
Until now.
She waited for him to at least smile, but his lips stayed firmly pressed together, and he looked at her with a faint wariness.
The silence stretched, and it seemed he’d decided the conversation was over. The man gave her a polite nod — nothing hostile, but not a trace of warmth — and started to close the door.
Tonks blinked, stunned at the sheer rudeness.
Oh no, mate. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.
She reacted faster than she thought — slipped the toe of her trainer neatly into the gap. The door bumped against her shoe, and she wobbled, grabbing the frame to steady herself. Her heart skipped, but she quickly found her footing, pushing the door wider with a flash of her brightest grin.
"And where exactly is he?" she asked, practically singing the words, though her insides were simmering.
Sirius, I swear I’m going to strangle you.
The man winced, as if her voice was too much for him, and ran a hand through his hair — which only made it look more of a mess.
"I’m not sure," he replied, gaze sliding away as if he was studying a crack in the wall down the hall.
Tonks bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
Helpful. Cheers for that.
"And will he be back soon?" she prompted, leaning in a little closer, still holding onto the door just in case he tried to shut it on her again.
He sighed — a heavy, almost theatrical sigh that practically said, Why is this my problem? — and muttered, still refusing to meet her eyes:
"Don’t know, to be honest."
Tonks felt her smile stretch tight across her face, like an elastic band on the verge of snapping. Normally, people melted under her energy, cracked a joke, or at least pretended to care. But this guy? He looked at her like she was an especially persistent housefly.
"Could you call him? Or, I don’t know, maybe help somehow?" she asked, lacing her voice with hopeful sweetness and tilting her head slightly, trying to catch his eye.
He finally looked at her — and for a split second, there was a flicker of something like irritation in those tired blue eyes.
"If you know Sirius, you probably have his number," he said, and his hand twitched towards the door again, like he still hadn’t given up on escaping.
Are you kidding me?
Tonks felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her, Nymphadora Tonks, who could get a checkout assistant chatting during a Friday night rush, had just been shut down.
"Of course I’ve got his number," she replied, aiming for sugary-sweet, though inwardly she was picturing herself kicking over the wheelie bin outside. "But, you see, my battery’s dead." She pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket and waved the black screen at him like it was evidence in court. "So, Mr Grumpy, any chance you might be a decent human and help out?" She raised an eyebrow, adding just a hint of mockery to her grin — though her heart was pounding with a mix of irritation and something weirdly like excitement. This bloke was a proper tough nut, and she wasn’t backing down.
He looked at her, and for a moment, something like resignation flickered in his tired eyes.
"Fine," he muttered at last, his gravelly voice sounding like he was giving in purely to get rid of her. "Wait a minute. I’ll get my phone."
He pulled the door to, leaving only a narrow crack, and disappeared into the flat. Tonks rolled her eyes and let out a sharp huff.
Seriously? What now — I’m the bloody pizza delivery girl?
Without thinking much about it, she gave the door a push and stepped firmly inside, shutting it behind her with a bit more force than intended. Please — she’d been here a million times. What, did he think she was going to get lost in the corridor or nick the fridge magnets? Tonks smirked, imagining Sirius returning home to interrogate her about a missing novelty motorbike magnet worth a fiver.
She took a few steps down the dark hallway — and then her trainer smacked into something solid. Pain shot through her big toe, and she bit her lip to keep from howling.
Bloody umbrella stand!
That thing was the bane of her life. Huge, ridiculous, shaped like a troll’s leg — claws and all — and clearly in need of a pedicure, it stood in the middle of the hallway like a monument to awful taste. Tonks had never understood why, out of everything Sirius could’ve taken from his mother’s house after she died, he’d chosen that.
The stand didn’t fit the flat at all — not with its dark walls plastered with rock band posters and red-and-gold touches that screamed rebellion and bad decisions.
Somewhere deeper in the flat came the sound of rummaging and indistinct muttering. Looked like Remus was searching for something — and not exactly thrilled to have her loitering in his doorway. Tonks sighed, a flicker of guilt poking at her ribs.
Alright, maybe I did mess up his day. Or morning?
Time to fix that, she decided. A joke, a bit of light flirting, maybe a compliment or two — that always did the trick. Now she just needed to remember his name.
Sirius had mentioned him a few times, mostly using some daft school nickname — Moony. Call him that now and he'd probably slam the door in her face. His real name was right there on the tip of her tongue. Something classical, Roman maybe? Romulus?
Her eyes scanned the corridor and caught on a battered leather satchel dumped by the wall. There was a name tag on the side, engraved in fading gold: Remus J. Lupin.
That’s it — Remus! Tonks mentally smacked herself in the forehead. Sirius had gone on once or twice about how his mate was a uni lecturer, one of the best apparently — students adored him, hung on his every word in lectures about history or whatever it was. But looking at the grumpy guy in crumpled pyjama bottoms, all she could see was a bookish buzzkill who probably drank Earl Grey without milk and read Jane Austen.
Tonks smoothed down her wind-blown blue hair, tucking an unruly fringe behind her ear, and pulled a smile back onto her face. She walked through the single door off the hallway, into the kitchen, and paused, taking in the familiar scene.
Through a wall of glass panels, she could see the living room — a dark leather sofa piled high with cushions, a coffee table with a mirrored top and a wobbling stack of motorbike magazines. Tonks stepped carefully over the edge of a shaggy rug that had tried to trip her up before, and flopped onto the sofa, aiming for a casual, I-do-this-all-the-time sort of pose. Falling flat on her face in front of Grumpy Lecturer Man was not on today’s agenda.
She grabbed the first magazine to hand and flipped it open at a random page — something about the latest Harley-Davidson model. Tonks idly turned the pages, pretending to be deeply fascinated by carburettors, though her eyes kept darting towards the door.
Come on, Remus, hurry it up.
She heard footsteps approaching and looked up just as Remus stepped into the living room. His blond hair still stuck out in all directions, and his wonky-buttoned shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing the top of those checkered pyjama bottoms. He held a phone in one hand, and his expression was a mix of fatigue and reluctant surrender — like he’d just lost an argument with himself.
"So, you’re Remus?" she asked, tilting her head and adding a playful edge to her voice.
He stopped in his tracks. His pale blue eyes narrowed, and something guarded flickered across his face.
"How do you know that?" he asked, frowning slightly.
Tonks shrugged, aiming for breezy even though she was this close to teasing him for being so bloody suspicious.
"Sirius mentioned you. Said he had this brilliant friend staying over — Remus, the lecturer all the students adore," she said, stretching out the words just a little. "One of the best, apparently."
Remus blinked, clearly not expecting that, and muttered,
"Right."
"And your name’s on your bag," she added, nodding toward the worn leather satchel still lying in the hallway.
He looked at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smirk — but his eyes stayed cold.
"Well, aren’t you just Sherlock Holmes," he muttered, tone so dry it could’ve sucked the moisture out of the air. "What next? Gonna take one look at my charging port and guess I’m an alcoholic?"
Tonks bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.
Oh, brilliant. He’s a comedian too.
Her gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a scatter of crumpled beer cans glittered under the dull yellow light. She’d clocked them when she walked in, but now they were the perfect excuse to prod him back.
"I don’t need your charger to figure that out, Mr Grumpy," she said, voice laced with teasing as she nodded toward the cans. Her smile widened, bold now, almost daring. "Big night, was it?"
Remus flushed slightly, and his ears — sticking out through the mess of his hair — turned an unmistakable shade of pink. He coughed and glanced away, suddenly very interested in a crack in the kitchen tiles.
"Just a night with some mates," he muttered, the awkwardness slipping through his tone.
Tonks gave a snort and waved a hand dismissively.
"Oh, come on — don’t sweat it," she said with a little laugh. "It’s not like I’m about to scold two grown men for having a couple of beers on a Friday."
Internally, she smirked. As if she hadn’t spent last night raving at a uni flat party, waking up in a stranger’s room and spending the morning trying to remember where she’d left her trainers. Not that Remus needed to know that. Let him think she was some kind of saint.
She noticed he was still staring toward the kitchen, clearly mortified by the mess, and decided it was time to nudge him along.
"Well? You calling him or what?" she asked, tapping her fingers against the magazine and leaning forward just enough to catch his gaze.
Remus blinked, like she’d pulled him out of some internal monologue, and gave a short nod.
"Yeah. Right."
He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through contacts. Tonks couldn’t help but notice the slight tremble in his fingers.
Blimey. How much did they drink last night?
He lifted the phone to his ear, and after a few long rings, a familiar voice crackled through the speaker.
"Moony?" drawled Sirius. "What’s up?"
"Hey, Padfoot," said Remus, his voice softening a bit, though it still sounded tired. "You’ve got… a girl."
"A girl? Who?"
"No idea," Remus muttered, glancing at her. His brows drew together in a frown, and it was so comically serious Tonks had to bite her lip not to laugh.
"Describe her," Sirius demanded, clear curiosity in his voice.
Remus sighed. His eyes drifted slowly — almost reluctantly — over Tonks. She sat up straighter on the sofa, adjusted her leather jacket, and raised an eyebrow as if to say: Go on then, impress me. She was expecting something punchy — nuclear energy in human form, maybe, or walking rainbow explosion — things her mates usually called her.
"Er… blue hair. Denim skirt, yellow tights, red T-shirt, leather jacket, and… red trainers," Remus said, with all the enthusiasm of someone reading off a shopping list.
Tonks stared at him, stunned. Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn’t decide whether to be offended or laugh in his face. Seriously? That was it? A second-hand catalogue rundown?
Cheers for that glowing review, Mr Grumpy.
"Huh. Not really my usual type," Sirius drawled on the other end, and Tonks could hear the smirk in his voice. That idiot definitely knew who was sitting in his living room — and was clearly loving every second of it.
She might’ve even agreed it was funny, if it weren’t for the way Remus was looking at her. He still seemed like he was weighing up whether to call the police or just chuck her out. His tired blue eyes flicked between her and the phone, full of awkward uncertainty that nearly made Tonks burst out laughing.
"Siri, it’s me!" she blurted.
"Tonksie?!" Sirius’s voice shot up an octave, and he practically shouted down the line. Remus winced and pulled the phone away from his ear like it’d bitten him. "Well, that’s a surprise! What are you doing there?"
Tonks bounced up from the sofa, reaching for the phone with the most innocent smile she could muster.
Go on, hand it over. Don’t be such a bore.
Remus gave her a look — the kind that said he was mentally assessing whether she might leg it with his mobile and flog it on eBay. But after a moment’s deliberation, apparently deciding she didn’t look like a career criminal, he sighed and passed her the phone, collapsing onto the sofa.
Tonks snatched it up with a cheeky "Thanks," then darted into the kitchen, shutting the glass door behind her. She leaned against the edge of the counter, already feeling her irritation dissolve into a familiar buzz of adrenaline.
"Actually, I wanted to ask what you’re doing," she said, trying to sound at least a bit annoyed. "I thought we agreed I’d come pick up the keys to the motorbike today."
"Sorry, Tonksie," Sirius chuckled, and she could practically see him shrugging with that stupid grin on his face. "I thought I’d be back before you got there. Promised Harry I’d take him to the cinema when school let out — and then we stopped for ice cream."
Tonks couldn’t help but smile. Sirius was Harry’s godfather, and he was always complaining he didn’t get enough time with him — what with all the schoolwork and schedules. It was sweet. Even if the timing right now was absolutely terrible.
"I tried calling," Sirius went on. "Thought we could meet in town, but your phone was dead."
"Yeah, battery died."
"Mmm. So… good night at the uni party, then? Didn’t sleep at home, did you?" His voice turned even more teasing, and Tonks could swear he was winking at her through the phone.
"How did y—" she started, then cut herself off with a roll of her eyes. "Actually, never mind. Let me guess — Kingsley, right? That bloke always sells me out without a second thought."
Sirius burst out laughing, and Tonks ran a tired hand through her blue hair, which had already started poking out from under her fringe again.
"So are you coming back soon?" she asked, tapping the toe of her trainer against the parquet. "I still need to get back to halls, and, you know, it’s not exactly round the corner."
"Yeah, I’ll be there in about ten minutes," Sirius replied, and there was a faint urgency in his voice. "Can you wait?"
"Do I have a choice?" Tonks snorted — but the corners of her mouth still twitched up into a smile.
"Brilliant! Hope Moony keeps you entertained while I’m on my way."
Tonks glanced through the glass partition at Remus. He had his head tipped back against the sofa, rubbing his eyes like her presence had drained the last bit of energy out of him. His blond hair flopped across his forehead, and that badly buttoned shirt made him look like someone who’d fallen into this reality by mistake and had no idea how to leave.
"Doubt it," she muttered, lowering her voice. "Pretty sure he’s not a fan."
"Nonsense!" Sirius scoffed. "It’s just not Moony’s season, you know? He’s mad about anyone lately. Give him time."
Not his season? What is he — a hibernating bear or something?
"Not sure I do know," she replied dryly.
"Forget it," Sirius laughed. "Just hand him the phone. I’ll have a word."
Ten whole minutes alone with Mr Grumpy. This’ll be fun.
She nudged the glass door open and stepped back into the living room, where Remus was still slumped with his head tipped back. She held out the phone, and he jumped slightly, as if he’d forgotten she was even there.
Remus took the phone, gave her a brief look, and lifted it to his ear. He listened to Sirius, nodding now and then and sneaking the occasional glance at Tonks like he was mentally checking whether anything had gone missing yet. She bit her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes.
When he finally ended the call, his lips twitched into a tired, almost pained sort of smile. He slapped his hands lightly against his knees, as if trying to muster some strength, and stood.
"Tea?" he asked, his gravelly voice sounding like it was offering out of sheer politeness.
Tonks lit up — this was her chance to chip away at the grumpy lecturer wall.
"Coffee, if that’s alright. Milk, no sugar."
She followed him into the kitchen and hopped onto her favourite bar stool by the counter, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the table as she went. Then she settled in to watch Remus.
He moved around the kitchen with mechanical precision, but every motion betrayed how knackered he was. He swept the beer cans into a bin bag, switched on the kettle, and scooped coffee beans into a machine that looked like it had survived at least two world wars. Every now and then, he winced slightly — brow furrowed, like his head was pounding or his back was killing him. Tonks bit into the apple, studying him thoughtfully.
Seriously, how much did they drink last night?
Her eyes drifted over his hunched shoulders and that ridiculously buttoned shirt. She shuddered at the thought of waking up with a hangover like that in your thirties.
Please let the Black genes save me.
The coffee machine hissed, and Remus set a mug down in front of her — black coffee, strong — then made himself tea, just as she’d guessed: Earl Grey, no milk, in a battered blue ceramic cup with yellow dots.
"So, what’s your name?" he asked, leaning on the counter and eyeing her with mild suspicion.
"Tonks," she replied with a shrug, like it should’ve been obvious.
Remus frowned slightly. His pale blue eyes narrowed as if trying to puzzle it out.
"Tonks? That’s... a name?"
"No, you muppet, it’s my surname," she said, grinning. "My first name’s a nightmare. I don’t use it. So you're better off not knowing it — might save you some trouble."
"Right," he muttered, taking a sip of tea and staring somewhere off to the side.
Wow, life of the party, Tonks thought, drumming her fingers against the mug.
"How do you know Sirius?" Remus asked, and his tone had the bored politeness of someone trying to fill dead air.
Tonks perked up — finally, an actual question.
"Oh, he’s my cousin. Well, technically my mum’s cousin — so second cousin, I guess. She cut ties with the family after school, so we hardly saw each other growing up. But once I moved to London for uni, we started hanging out and just… caught up on everything we missed. He’s like a hurricane — in a good way."
Remus nodded, but his eyes stayed distant, like she was explaining tax codes to him.
"Right," he said, and that was that.
Tonks gripped her mug a little tighter than necessary.
Seriously, mate — throw me a bone here!
She took a deep breath and decided to try a different angle.
"And what about you?" she asked, leaning in slightly and adding a teasing lilt to her voice. "Sirius said you lot went to school together, then lived in a flat during uni with James and Peter. That right?"
"Something like that," Remus muttered, turning his gaze towards the window, where the grey blur of a London courtyard lay beyond the foggy glass.
Tonks blinked. Something like that? That had to be the dullest answer in the history of small talk. She opened her mouth to ask more, but the tension in his shoulders — and the obvious don’t-push-it aura — made her bite back whatever follow-up was forming.
Alright, Mr Grumpy. I surrender.
Her charm was clearly malfunctioning today.
She finished off her coffee, feeling her enthusiasm seep out like steam from the mug. The kitchen sank into silence, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside. Tonks stared at the little magnet on the fridge, grasping for a new topic — anything — but every idea felt ridiculous.
Then the front door clattered, and the sound of keys rattling in the lock hit her like salvation.
Sirius, you absolute hero.
She shot up from the bar stool so fast it wobbled dangerously on its legs. Ignoring the glare Remus gave her as he rubbed his temples, she dashed toward the hall — nearly tripping over that damned troll-foot umbrella stand again.
"Siri!" Tonks yelled, launching herself at him and pulling him into a tight hug that made him stumble back a step.
"Tonksie!" Sirius grinned, pulling away to get a good look at her, his expression wide and boyish. His black hair was a windblown mess, and his leather jacket smelled like London pavement and something suspiciously like ice cream. "Bloody hell, your hair was purple last time I saw you!"
"Purple?" Tonks rolled her eyes dramatically, flicking her electric-blue fringe. "That was a past life, Sirius!"
"Wasn’t that, like, March?" he asked, squinting, head tilted like he was trying to place it.
"Exactly. Past. Life." She waved him off with a grin. "I can’t stick with one colour longer than a month. And purple made me look all washed out — like I hadn’t slept in a week. So, I switched. You like it?"
"Love it," he said, pulling her into another hug and ruffling her hair, which made her squeak in protest. "You look like you just broke out of a punk festival."
"Is that meant to be a compliment?" she asked, arching a brow and putting her hands on her hips.
"Absolutely," he smirked, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. Tonks noticed Remus, still sitting in the living room, glancing their way briefly before turning back to his tea as if willing himself to disappear into it.
"So," said Sirius, making his way through the kitchen toward the bedroom. On the way, he nodded at Remus, who returned it with the barest tilt of his head, still looking like his hangover was on the verge of evolving into a migraine.
"How’s everything going?" he called over his shoulder.
"Same old," Tonks called back, leaning on the kitchen counter and spinning her empty coffee mug between her hands. "Uni, exams, part-time work."
"And no drama?" came his voice from the bedroom, followed by the sound of rummaging through drawers.
"Absolutely none."
A couple of minutes later, Sirius returned, jingling a set of keys. His grey eyes gleamed like someone who’d just pulled off a slightly reckless plan and was extremely pleased with himself.
"Parked your motorbike in the garage," he said, handing her the keys. "That’s a spare for the garage door, so keep it. If you need to bring the motorbike back, space is always yours."
Tonks snatched the keys as if they were the last slice of pizza at a party.
"Thanks, Siri!" she grinned, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Finally, I get to ride again. Missed that beast these past couple of months."
She twirled the keys between her fingers, already picturing herself tearing down London streets, wind in her hair, engine roaring beneath her. Keeping the motorbike at uni wasn’t really an option — the halls were too close to campus, and everything she needed, from coffee to cocktails, was walking distance. But leaving it at her parents’ place in the suburbs and riding only during summer? Not a chance. She’d sooner sell her vinyl collection. Keeping it at Sirius’s meant she could grab her freedom now and then — even if it meant braving the Tube and two buses to get there.
"And didn’t you miss me?" Sirius asked with mock offence, folding his arms across his chest.
"Of course I missed you," Tonks laughed, giving him a playful shove. "But the motorbike doesn’t forget our meet-ups. Can’t say the same for certain cousins."
"Ouch," Sirius clutched his chest dramatically. "Wounded. So — stay for lunch? Or dinner? Actually, what time even is it?" He glanced down at his watch — old, with a scuffed leather strap, probably something he’d had since school.
Tonks sighed, shaking her head.
"Can’t, Siri. I’ve got to head back to halls and finish packing. Tomorrow’s the last day to clear out for summer, and my suitcase currently looks like it was hit by a small tornado."
"Fair enough," Sirius shrugged, but his smile stayed warm. "So… heading back home, then?"
Tonks froze, nervously twirling the keys on her finger. Her blue fringe fell across her face, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear, avoiding his eyes.
"No. I’m staying in London," she mumbled, trying to sound casual — but the slight tremble in her voice gave her away.
Sirius frowned, and for a moment, something like concern flickered in his grey eyes — honest and sharp enough to make Tonks feel a sting of guilt.
"And where are you going to stay?" he asked, folding his arms again. And just like that, he looked less like the cool cousin and more like an older brother, seconds away from a lecture.
Don’t start, Sirius. Please.
"I’ve saved up a bit," she said with a shrug, like it was no big deal. "Enough for a hostel for a couple of weeks. And maybe they’ll finally pay me for that stupid project — instead of drowning me in revision notes. I’ll find a room somewhere cheap on the edge of town. Got the motorbike now — I can get wherever I need."
Sirius narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly more serious than usual.
"Hostel’s not a great idea, Dora," he said, and his voice held none of its usual teasing tone — just firm, steady concern.
Tonks shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass, feeling that all-too-familiar stubbornness start to boil inside her.
"At least it’s better than going back to them!" she snapped, folding her arms and straightening up like she was gearing up for a fight. "We’ve been over this, Sirius! You left home at sixteen. Mum walked out the second she turned eighteen. My rebellion’s just... fashionably late at twenty — and what, I don’t get a turn?"
She could feel her cheeks burning, and her voice trembled — which only made her angrier. Remus looked up from his tea, casting them a brief glance before turning away again, like he’d rather not witness the argument unfolding. Tonks clenched her jaw, wishing the grumpy lecturer wasn’t even here.
Sirius let out a low chuckle, his mouth curling into a smug little grin that made Tonks want to kick him in the shin.
"Dora, you already had your rebellious phase when you showed up at home at seventeen with a brow piercing and a rabbit tattoo on your ribs," he drawled, grey eyes glinting with amusement. "And for the record, no one runs away from home for no reason."
Tonks rolled her eyes so hard she nearly pulled a muscle.
Of course he remembers the bloody rabbit.
"Well you ran, didn’t you?" she shot back, hands on her hips.
"See? Point proven," Sirius said, with a shrug. The grin lingered, but his voice softened. "Andromeda’s not a mad old bat like mine. There’s no reason to run from her."
"I’d argue with the ‘not mad’ bit," Tonks muttered, throat tightening.
The Christmas row with her mum still stung like an open wound. She’d come home and announced she and Charlie Weasley had broken up — and it was like dropping a grenade in the middle of the family dinner. Everyone — her parents, his parents — had expected a ring, a wedding announcement, something neat and perfect. Instead, she’d arrived alone, with a suitcase and a calm, final: We’re over.
Andromeda had taken it as a personal betrayal, like Tonks had smashed her picture-perfect expectations on purpose.
"You were such a beautiful couple," her mother had repeated, over and over, until Tonks had felt like she couldn’t breathe. "You need to fix this, Nymphadora — you’re making a mistake!"
But Charlie had stayed in Romania, and Tonks had stayed behind, left to listen to endless lectures about how she’d ruined everything. On New Year’s Eve, Andromeda had said things so cutting that Tonks still flinched at the memory. The number went into her blocklist the next morning. She hadn’t spoken to her since.
Things with her dad were easier. Ted still called once a week, asked about her studies, laughed at her stories about uni mates, and never once mentioned Charlie or her mum. She missed him — missed that quiet kind of support. But going back to that house, where every conversation with Andromeda was a minefield?
She’d rather sleep at King’s Cross.
Sirius had known from the start. When she showed up on his doorstep, crying, fresh off the train, he hadn’t asked questions. He’d made her hot chocolate, put on an old Queen record, and let her crash at his flat for a couple of weeks until she found her feet again. Sometimes he gently asked if she wanted to talk to her mum — Tonks suspected he still spoke to Andromeda behind the scenes — but he never pushed. And for that, she loved him to bits.
"Sorry," Sirius said softly, and his voice — warm and quiet — yanked Tonks out of her spiral of memories. He stepped closer, laying a hand gently on her shoulder, and his grey eyes shone with such honest concern it brought a lump to her throat. "I’m just worried about you. And I wasn’t talking about going back to your parents. I meant... stay here. Your room’s still empty."
Tonks snorted, trying to mask the way his offer hit her square in the chest. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile, but she crossed her arms tightly, hiding the tremble in her fingers.
"That’s not my room," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "It’s the room I crash in when we get too pissed for me to stumble back to halls."
"Still counts," Sirius grinned wider, his tousled hair falling over his forehead, making him look like an oversized dog who knew he’d be forgiven anyway. "I’ve been saying for ages you should ditch that hellhole and just move in."
"And listen to you flirting with my best mate over breakfast? Hard pass," Tonks giggled, her eyes dancing with mischief.
She instantly regretted it.
Her gaze flicked to Remus, still seated in the living room, his face buried in his mug. He looked absorbed in the profound mysteries of his tea — but his shoulders tensed, just slightly. Sirius froze too, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he coughed and mumbled something under his breath.
Nice one, Tonks. Ever heard of a filter? she scolded herself, biting her lip.
"And I’m not sure," she went on quickly, lowering her voice and trying to steer things back to safer waters. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her backpack, and her eyes drifted again to Remus, who was doing a remarkable impression of furniture.
"I don’t want to be a burden," she added. "And you’ve already got... guests."
Sirius followed her gaze and let out a short, dismissive snort, like she’d just suggested something ridiculous.
"You’re not a burden," he said firmly. Then, raising his voice with a trace of playful challenge, he added, "And I’m sure Remus wouldn’t mind your charming company. Right, Moony?"
Remus lifted his head, his pale blue eyes briefly meeting Tonks’s. She searched for something — even a flicker of emotion — but his face was unreadable, stretched into a polite mask covering what looked like bone-deep exhaustion.
"Of course," he said, taking a sip of tea. "No problem."
Tonks narrowed her eyes slightly, trying to figure out whether he meant it or just didn’t want to contradict Sirius. His tone had all the enthusiasm of someone being offered a weekend filing paperwork in a cellar.
Yeah. You’re absolutely thrilled to have me around, she thought, a faint prickling of irritation sparking beneath her ribs.
"I don’t know, Siri," Tonks mumbled, turning back to him and twisting the keyring in her hand. Her voice was quieter than usual, as though speaking louder would make her doubts too obvious.
The offer was so tempting it made her teeth ache. Living here wouldn’t just mean a warm bed and a decent shower — it meant Sirius. Queen records, late-night rambling chats, and stupid jokes that always made her snort-laugh.
The thought of relying on someone — even him — scraped at her like a broken record. She hated owing anyone. That’s why she worked café shifts into the night, took on stupid freelance projects, clung to her scholarship, and proudly refused a penny from her parents. That was her rebellion, her way of proving she could manage without her mum’s lectures or her dad’s quiet bank transfers. Moving in with Sirius — fun as it sounded — would be admitting she needed help. And Tonks would rather eat her own trainers.
"Alright, how about this," Sirius said, folding his arms. His tone was softer now, almost fatherly, but there was still that familiar spark dancing in his eyes. "You stay until they pay you for that project and you find a proper place. Until then, the flat’s yours. I’m not letting my favourite cousin sleep in some dodgy hole."
Tonks looked at him, and her heart twisted at his words. Truthfully, her savings would barely cover a week in a hostel — and even that would be the sort with a mildew-scented bathroom and neighbours who snored like chainsaws. The project she was counting on was as reliable as a London weather forecast. A couple of weeks at Sirius’s? Didn’t sound like the end of the world.
Her fingers stilled, no longer fidgeting with the motorbike keys. She caught Sirius’s gaze — warm, stubborn, the kind that said he wasn't going to budge. She knew him. He’d sooner tie her to the sofa than let her check into some grimy hostel.
She exhaled, as if letting go of something heavy, and gave the smallest of nods — like saying yes might break the universe if she wasn’t careful. Sirius lit up like someone had just gifted him a new motorcycle, and his grin was so infectious she couldn’t help but smile back.
"Brilliant! Right — let’s go grab your stuff!" he said, grabbing his leather jacket off the hook and heading for the door. "And I want details about that party! Guy or girl?"
"Sirius!" Tonks rolled her eyes, but her laugh burst out, bright and ringing, as he tugged her toward the exit. The door slammed behind them, her laughter echoing down the stairwell.
Only once they were outside, the wind whipping at her blue hair, did Tonks realise — she hadn’t said goodbye to Remus. No thanks for the coffee, no apology for invading his space. And more importantly, no thank-you for agreeing — supposedly — to tolerate her under the same roof. Her eyes flicked to the kitchen window, where he was probably still sitting, mug in hand.
Hope Sirius is right, and he’s just having a crap week, she thought, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Because imagining Sirius — walking chaos — as best mates with someone as silent and shut-down as Remus? That was hard to picture.
Maybe he thaws after a pint or two, she mused. Or at least a second coffee?
She shook her head, fingers tightening around the motorbike keys, and hurried after Sirius — who was already swinging open the door of his black Jaguar E-Type, parked by the curb. The car was just like him — a rock-and-roll relic, all long bonnet, scuffed chrome, and flaking paint that somehow only added to its charm. Sirius gave the steering wheel an affectionate pat, grinning like a teenager cutting class, and Tonks couldn’t help but smile at the thought of cramming her chaotic uni suitcase into the tiny boot of the beast.
The engine roared to life, sending pigeons flapping off the pavement.
At least now she knew she’d be spending part of her summer with jolly company.
Her eyes drifted once more to the kitchen window.
Or... almost jolly company, she thought, slinging her backpack into the back seat and hopping in.