(no subject)

[metamorphical]

Day passes into the evening quietly on the street with the accidental numbering convention, sunlight receding upon Numbers 11 and 13 just as it does any old evening. But there, snuggled just as it should be, good old Number 12 is also sitting there in the dusk hours. People just didn't know it. They didn't see it. Unless, of course, they knew what they should be seeing.

A currently blonde-haired woman stands in front of the empty space, ignored just as much as the invisible house is, and thinks about exactly what she should be seeing. After a moment, it's as if the small area yawns wide open, spitting out 12 Grimmauld Place as it does.

The door opens, allowing her entrance, and a gruff old man greets the woman with a grunt. "Wotcher, Mad Eye!" She replies cheerfully, scooting past him in a blithe manner and proceeding promptly to be tripped up by an old (and ugly as sin) umbrella stand fashioned from what looks like a troll's leg. "Rude, that, isn't it?"

Moody rolls his good eye, the magical one remaining on the youthful Auror as she straightens herself and motions that she should follow him for the grand tour. "Tonks, the wretched house. Kitchen's there. Don't break things." That is the end of Moody's grand tour as he points down the hall and towards the kitchen. Tonks, undaunted by her mentor's attitude, grins and heads down the direction he pointed in.

As she moves down the hall, only minding the wall after bumping into it already, she enters the kitchen and takes a good look around. Grimmauld Place is something out of half-told stories from her childhood. It doesn't seem as scary now that she's older. Only sadder. Pity.

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[lumenrelegandus]

"Tonks," he repeats with a nod. Memory updated. …That helps, actually: new name for the new person—the new people everyone becomes over time.

(But not you.
She's still too young for you.)
(Yes, I know—as if I'd be trying anything regardless.)

It was just so unusual to be having such thoughts at all. The last… crush? Crumbs… but only juvenile words were available, because, yes, the last "crush" he'd had was on a certain… friend, fellow prefect; and even in the astronomically unlikely chance he would have ever said anything, then, either, he most definitely never considered it after she became involved with someone equally sacrosanct.

He was not someone to… impose… inflict… on anyone else. To that extent.

…Thank Merlyn, the kettle sang. Lupin immediately stood, nearly knocking over his own chair. Wandlessly, he Summoned a pair of cups. "Would you like? Tea? Cocoa?"

[metamorphical]

She nods her thanks, pleased by the ease of it. Her mouth opens to say something or another, off-handed and probably a bit cheeky, but the kettle whistle and the abruptness of Remus' movements startle her just a touch. She does gather herself quickly enough to reach out and steady the chair for him. "Usually, people catch my chair. I like the switch up."

As he busies himself with that, she gets up as well in order to snoop around for food. "Tea, please. Something to eat? I can.." Cooking isn't exactly her forte. "Look for food and plate it?"

She's opening up the icebox as she asks this, which is already half full with the handiwork of Molly Weasley. In there, Tonks spies a plate of biscuits, and grabs a few for the both of them. "Chocolate biscuit?"

[lumenrelegandus]

He catches himself from saying sorry just in time, since she'd just said she liked it. (…)

"Thanks," he says automatically, with no idea if he's hungry or not. He finishes the tea and sets everything, with hands and without, down in perfect configuration between them.

"So, obviously, you've been up to a lot since we last met," said Lupin, offering her the steamed milk before he took any. "How did you end up here?"

[metamorphical]

Humming to herself, she looks for a plate to put their snacks on, using her free hand to wave her wand at what looks to be a stack of clean dishes. A plate sails over to her easily enough, but she does nearly fumble the catch. Correcting herself before it drops to the floor, she puts the biscuits down on the plate and then holds it firmly with both hands as she brings it to the table.

Easing back into the chair, she pushes the plate toward him first while taking the milk. "Got in Hufflepuff, me. Got in trouble." The second part is relayed with an impish smile. "Got into Auror training, somehow convinced Moody I'm good for it.." She concentrates on her tea, taking care not to make a mess as she talks.

She looks up, passing the milk over before looking back down for a moment. "I was at the Quidditch Cup last year." The one that had Death Eaters crawling in it. Tonks looks back up then, eyebrows lifted and a mildly exasperated expression on her face. "And I've been asking why we're not doing anything about it ever since."

"Moods still has ears at the Ministry, I reckon. Because I got chewed out for insubordination..and he pops up with a letter from Dumbledore!" Imagine her surprise when her former Headmaster lets her in on the secret of this old place.

She wants to ask the same question in return. Not just out of polite curiosity, but the genuine feeling of it. But knowing what she knows now, of the fallout, she can't imagine it was easy for the man. So instead, Tonks asks another question. "Is it difficult? Being in this situation again? Seeing him again?"

[lumenrelegandus]

"Moody tends to see through the things that fool others," said Lupin, shooting her an almost secretive smile.

Being in 'this situation' again… what: jobless, rejected, semi-exiled; from the miracle of finding not only that he was good at something, but that it was a good thing, a service, something truly decent for others in the world, and it was something he could give and connect in ways he never thought he'd have at all or again, beyond fantasy and fascination fulfilled, after all that loss and nothingness, and it was all gone because he'd blown it…

Undeniably, it was a little softened yes by having a community and a purpose this time rather than the years of chill nothingness, actual absolute hermitism, nothing but his loss and shock and finally finding a way to serve others but only invisibly so they'd never know he was there;

but— 'this situation' could also mean at war, needing to spy, embed with people most vehemently and violently the exact inverse of his own values and identity (deify the abandon of the wolf, vilify the caring of the wizards), and so taking him away from those he most would wish to be with but can't complain because it's those he also wants to serve and protect so how can he protest or resent that this is how he can do so best… but he does resent and is eaten alive by it so the self-hatred goes 'round and 'round…

He's not going to touch that one with a ten-foot wand.

The other question, though…

"See… Sirius, again?" He chooses that one because he can look her in the eye and feel his mouth curve, and though it's a slight smile, it's a fully, genuinely warm one. "It's only difficult seeing him go stir-crazy and only being able to help so far. But for me… That Halloween… It wasn't just losing those friends, that family, in the present and future. It was losing our shared past, as well. Our only explanation for what happened could not be reconciled with my experience of these people and where our lives intersected. So my experience had been wrong. Sirius must never have been who I thought he was, and that shared time of our lives must also have been a lie. And since that time had meant… everything to me… It was loss upon loss, each alone already immeasurable.

"It doesn't make the loss of Lily and James any more bearable. But to finally have the truth, and to have Sirius as I knew he'd really been, that past, for all of us, restored… The tragedy that it did not break it to have this be true of…" He still couldn't speak Peter's name… "But no. It's not difficult to have Sirius back. In the present or in the past. I'm furious at so much of how it happened… can't help wondering if things could have been changed, if I could have changed them… but so many more powerful forces and figures were involved… and now, finally, my gratitude is greater than my anger. I can actually do as I would wish; I can have this gift of more time with Sirius and not lose it to resenting having lost other time. …That is a much, much longer and… more laden answer than you were probably after for someone you barely know."

[metamorphical]

There's an amicable quiet as Remus formulates his thoughts, accented only by the small noises from stirring her tea. She laughs quietly and motions her head in such a way to silently say 'True true,' when he conspiratorially mentions Moody's penchant for seeing through bullshit, and then leans on the table, curious as to his answer.

Tonks leaves the question vague for a variety of reasons -- mostly on purpose. While she doesn't know the specifics of Remus' situation -- either during the first war or what will be expected of him now -- she assumes there was fallout. How could there not have been? What she remembers of the teenagers from her youth is that they were close. Closer than close. And if Tonks, in her young age and innocence, felt the blow of Sirius' supposed betrayal, then how on earth would Remus feel knowing the details of it?

So she asks the vague question to give him the choice of how to answer it, and with what. She also figures that perhaps he doesn't want to share his life story with a complete stranger.

Not that they'll always be strangers. She's sure of that already.

Tonks catches his gaze and smiles in return, listening to Remus. And smiles again, nodding in understanding. "It's like..time was a piece of clothing that had an invisible tag, yeah? It fits and it's technically fine..but the tag is itchy. Uncomfortable. And now? Now the tag's finally ripped off."

But then she laughs and takes a biscuit, motioning toward him with it as she gestures with her hands. "How else am I going to know you without long and laden answers?"

[lumenrelegandus]

…that was a misfire. Though he never looked away and his expression was never less than truly friendly, a brow did microscopically arch, and something behind his eyes went little more distant.

Maybe on a gut level, it couldn't help but land on him, how his clothing maybe was never so comfortable no matter what—much hadn't had tags on them by the time they got to him at all—

(The first year subsisting not-secretly-enough on hand-me-downs from McGonagall; after being adopted by the Trickster Gods, he refused to let them buy him better, but more and more he reluctantly would accept 'hand-me-downs' from James, as well. Sirius was too inept at making his look at all used and not bespoke.)

And he wasn't judging her for saying it, didn't find it offensive or stupid or anything… It was just a distance remembered, what a different world he walked in from most of the people around him, and how alien most would find his. Even to hear around the edges of it, how could she be expected to anticipate how he'd lived for most of his existence. If he told her outright, he was certain she wouldn't be threatening, lazy or cruel. He didn't doubt she'd be kind and sympathetic. She might be as unconventional in reaction as she was in most things, have interesting ways of looking at it that could be refreshing.

But they wouldn't be… 

…he didn't even know any more.

What he'd lost? What he missed? What he'd wanted so much but never actually existed anyway?

It was fine, no one should be expected to get it at once, that would be terrible because it meant they'd lived it too and he didn't wish that on anyone; it just… wasn't necessarily a conversation to have this minute.

How else am I going to know you.

"I wouldn't mind hearing more about you," he said, picking up his cup to inhale the steam—really to hold in front of his face. For all the gods' sakes, please, turn focus off himself, including his own. "What kind of" [Order] "Business do they have you on so far?"

[metamorphical]

Tonks fancies herself a people watcher, and a fairly good one at that. So while she notes that his demeanor doesn't change, she sees it change. Something that she can't put her finger on, something akin to the proverbial itchy tag once more.

"Have a biscuit, Remus." She encourages him, breezy in the offer even if she has ulterior motives. It's chocolate. And chocolate is always good for the soul. And he needs it, she decides. Also, they were quite good. They remind her of-- "Is Molly Weasley feeding us?" It dawns on her that the Weasleys could very well be a part of this. "Cripes. I haven't seen her since leaving Hogwarts."

As for what she's been assigned to, Tonks shrugs and chuckles. "Same thing I'm assigned at the Ministry. Just...not for the Ministry." Believing it easier to show than tell -- or more fun, at least -- she morphs her features into those of Sirius. "Did you know that Sirius Black has been seen in Ireland? And France. And once in Wales." She doesn't sound quite like him. Not yet. Tonks needs to study for that part.

But then she shakes her head and comes back into focus as just herself, voice and all, though her hair is now a bright pink shag. "Hard not to be recruited when you're a natural decoy." It's her own unique contribution to both her job and now the Order, being able to use her Metamorphmagus ability for what's needed.

[lumenrelegandus]

"We really ask too much of her," Lupin confirms with a nod, "but… I think a lot of us have been confronting a lot of assumptions this past few weeks. One of them was, a woman like Molly's choice to become a housewife, when in the past we might have said: 'she could have put her magical talent to 'better' use'. We're coming up against just how very much talent managing a house—even without this one's challenges—can require. And how exceedingly good she is at it, so how it was as considered and empowered a choice it was for her as any other career. More of us would be laughing at seeing the likes of Moody at his wits' end groveling for her help, if we weren't limping right behind him to also do so."

Tonks's transformation into Sirius had Lupin fumble his cup, catch it in one hand to cover his eyes with the other and laugh-moan, "Oh, crumbs…" and only look up most briefly and furtively until she'd become herself again. Yes, as students, then-Remus and then-Sirius had fulfilled the entire school's rumour mill and snogged a few times; but as such different people to one another now… seeing current Sirius's appearance on a person he was really fancying finding-attractive-without-intent was still a bit difficult to process.

What she was actually saying caught up to him with a worried frown. He forced himself not to be that guy and thought it through a step further. "…and then your ability to completely vanish a moment later," he too-sluggishly finished. "That's quite good. …Do you mind? That as your mission?"

[metamorphical]

In the span of confirming that he was the Remus she remembers from her childhood to now, Tonks has all but forgotten that there is a gap in between them -- both in age and apprarently in viewing people as the likes of one Molly Weasley. Because the woman Tonks remembers could whip anyone into shape with just a look. But too, Tonks only knows Molly already in a that sort of take-charge way she has, having been friends with Charlie Weasley.

So she may have said something about that, but poor Remus' reaction delights her too much. "I'd say I was sorry.." she says before smiling impishly, "but I'd be lying."

As for whether she minds, Tonks tilts her head then, thinking about it. She understands what he means immediately, and is trying to put her thoughts about a complicated matter into words that make sense to people not in her brain. "No. I signed up as an Auror knowing full well me being..well, me.." she motions to herself with a wry smile, "made for a unique case. And the same with the Order. I've got an ability that can do good. It's going to put me in some shitty situations -- putting on the face of a Death Eater sympathizer to get in close with Death Eaters is quite shit -- but it's also something that I can do. And I don't have to worry about the danger someone else would be in if their Polyjuice failed. And that's why I joined up, isn't it? To do something?"

It's her turn to pick up her cup, holding it to her face as she regards the man for a moment. She squints for a second, mouth screwing up at the idea that her next question could fuck things up. But, as she does, she carries forward anyway. "How do you feel about it? I'd wager your own.." She doesn't know what to call it without calling it what it is. Is that a thing? Do people do that? Does he want to talk about it? Her free hand moves around as she looks for the word that isn't the word. "..I'm sorry. I don't know how you'd like it to talk about it. Situation? Is a bit similar?"

[lumenrelegandus]

Irony… So innocuous a concept as a clothing label had pushed him away… Now the most actively treacherous crux of his life—literally dangerous as well as psychologically… Her saying it head-on makes him raise his eyes to her in a new way.

…a so much more unshielded, equal, open, relieved, way, than he's so far been.

Closer.

"I didn't know if you knew," he said. Yes, definite relief. What an overturn it makes—when the worst has already happened—twice. …And this time actually is better.

"But, yes. …Sorry, I admit, that's exactly why I asked. It can be difficult. When the thing that makes you best able to serve… isn't something you've chosen to do, to become good at, to try to give to others, but just something… you are. Issues of how much one wants to be 'defined' by or 'limited' to a thing, even when it can be put to the good…

"To my extremely biased outside eye, yours seems a much more positive attribute you can inhabit and share than I tend to think of my own, but I still wouldn't presume to know your own relationship to it. …I don't know. I think things of myself that I would never think of or say to someone else. I'm projecting, of course, we don't know each other enough. But if you ever feel that way… I don't know. I'd be around, to talk."

[metamorphical]

She looks back at him in surprise,
wide eyed and, truthfully, curious.

"Back when you repeated your name." She should have the grace to look sheepish about it, but doesn't. Instead, she states that piece of information simply. After her initial determination, Tonks had already deemed the fact that Remus is a werewolf as simply that. A fact. She still doesn't know him, of course, but already he's infinitely better than those awful books in her youth made werewolves out to be.

Without really thinking about it, she reaches out and taps his hand gently. "The same goes for you. I know I won't fully get it--" She doesn't presume that their situations are at all the same. But she doesn't think they're entirely dissimilar either. "But I'll hopefully be able to relate, yeah? And remind you that we are who we are, what we are. But that's not the entirety of us."