The corridors of Hogwarts had never felt both so narrow and so wide at once. Her grin wouldn't leave her face as Tonks floated up the stone steps to the Room of Requirement, parchment clutched to her chest like it was the Holy Grail. Her feet barely touched the floor. Every flickering torch along the way seemed to echo the thrum of her racing heart.
She had done it.
Perfect score.
A date.
It felt absurd and brilliant, like waking to find your wildest dream not only real but standing at your door, smiling and ready.
She burst into the room with all the subtlety of a Filibuster firework.
"Oi! Girls!" she shouted, startling Penny so badly that she knocked over her bottle of hair potion.
Chiara looked up from her stack of spellwork and blinked. "What happened? You look like someone just offered you a lifetime supply of Honeydukes' best."
"I passed," Tonks said, breathless, her smile so wide it hurt. "There was one tiny spelling slip, but Professor Lupin noted it, and it still counts. He said it qualified as a minor mechanical slip."
Penny stared at her, wide-eyed. "Wait, the exam?"
"The one," Tonks nodded, grinning even wider as she unfolded the parchment and held it up triumphantly. "Look at it. He annotated the slip, initialled the moderation, and recorded the final mark."
Chiara practically tackled her onto the bed. "You legend! I knew you'd do it!"
"But wait," Badeea said from her corner, cross-legged with a book on magical architecture in her lap. Her eyes narrowed. "Does this mean…?"
Tonks bit her lip and nodded, unable to contain the squeal that escaped her. "I've got a date. With him. It's real."
All three of them gaped at her for a moment before erupting into overlapping questions and laughter.
"You're serious?"
"What are you going to wear?!"
"Merlin's beard, what if he takes you to the Three Broomsticks?!"
Tonks laughed until her stomach hurt. "I have no idea; we didn't plan that part. It was just… he honoured the promise. That's all. And he looked." She hesitated, her voice softening. "Proud of me."
Chiara sobered first. "You earned that, Tonks. You've been working harder than any of us, and you've changed a lot this year. You're not just loud anymore; you're focused."
Tonks sank into the pillows, the parchment still pressed against her chest. "I have, haven't I?" she murmured.
"I mean, you even study in the shower," Penny said with a grin. "You're a menace."
They all laughed again, but Tonks's smile had softened now. Her heart ached in the strangest way, as if it had grown too big for her chest. Yes, she'd earned the marks, but what mattered more was the way Lupin had looked at her. Not just as a student. Not just with respect. But with something like hope.
Badeea leaned over and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "He's lucky someone like you sees him. I hope he realises it."
Tonks exhaled slowly. "I hope so too."
And for once, she wasn't entirely sure she meant it as a joke.
Days had a cruel way of moving faster when you least wanted them to.
Remus sat alone in his office, the soft ticking of an enchanted clock the only sound besides his own restless breath. A half-drunk cup of tea sat forgotten beside a stack of parchment he'd read twice and remembered none of.
He hadn't intended to let the promise linger. He had thought it would dissolve quietly, like most of the harmless things students said in passing. He thought the fire in her would flare bright and brief, snuffed out by exams or the next teenage distraction.
But she hadn't.
She had done brilliantly in her exam, full marks after moderation, and the joy of it had felt like sunlight piercing the rafters of his carefully composed restraint.
The date loomed.
Remus ran a hand through his hair, pressing his fingers against his temple. A dull ache pulsed beneath the skin, steady and unrelenting—a reminder. The Healers had told him the tumour could not be removed. Potions and charms had slowed it, but only just. It was a strange thing, carrying the knowledge of your own deadline. Everything became sharper, sadder. Precious.
And now there was her.
How could someone so young have unmoored a man like him?
He'd meant to maintain the boundaries—professor, student, nothing more. He should have shut it down the moment she proposed the deal: a perfect mark for a date. He could have laughed it off, reported it, or done anything but honour it.
But the truth was, something about her fierce belief in herself and in him had cracked a hollow part of his chest open.
And now he was terrified.
He stood and walked to the window, watching students crossing the courtyard in little knots of scarves and laughter. Somewhere in the throng, she would be walking too—perhaps nervously telling her friends, perhaps imagining what their day or evening would be like.
Did she picture candles? Music? Something sweet and simple?
Or did she just want his time, his attention, and his approval?
Merlin, he hoped it wasn't that. She deserved affection, not reverence. He didn't want to be her pedestal. He wanted to meet her where she stood.
But she was too young. Too alive. And he was tired. The tumour pulsed again behind his eye, a phantom whisper: Don't forget. Don't hope too hard.
Still, he found himself reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk. Inside lay a box he hadn't opened in years. Within it: a neatly folded shirt he used to wear to ministry functions before his condition had turned him into a recluse, and a tie an old friend once said made him look "mildly less like a tragic poet".
He smoothed the tie across his knee and, for one foolish second, imagined a future where he had reason to wear it again.
She deserved far better than a man fading away. But he could give her honesty. One good day. One good evening. If that was all he could offer, he'd make it count.
Even if it broke him a little.
He sat back down, took another sip of the cold tea, and stared at the date faintly circled on his planner.
One week.
Just one week until he'd have to face her smile again and answer the question he hadn't stopped asking himself:
How do you stop yourself from falling in love with someone who's already lit a fire in you that you thought had long gone cold?
A week later, Tonks had never fussed so much over a bloody outfit in her life.
Her bed looked like a battlefield, strewn with robes, skirts, jumpers, tights, Muggle jeans, and a few very questionable fashion choices she couldn't believe she owned, all lying about like fallen soldiers. She stood amid the chaos, one sock on, hair a stubborn shade of nervous turquoise, hands on her hips.
"Alright. Alright. Breathe," she muttered, pacing in a small circle. "It's just a date. With a professor. He's brilliant and kind and a bit brooding. Merlin's trousers…"
She flopped backwards onto the mess of clothes, staring at the ceiling as her heart pounded like she'd just outrun a Hungarian Horntail. What if this was a mistake? What if he was already wishing he hadn't agreed? What if he was only trying to spare her feelings and didn't actually feel anything at all?
But then she remembered the way he looked at her sometimes when he thought she wasn't watching, quiet, as though he were trying not to hope. The way his voice softened when he praised her work, the way he'd looked at her exam paper, the quiet smile that followed.
Her stomach fluttered again. That wasn't pity. It was something else. Something closer to… maybe.
She scrambled back to her feet and turned to the cracked mirror leaning against her wardrobe. Her reflection stared back: face pale, hair dull. She frowned.
"Nope," she whispered, shaking her head. "Not tonight."
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Slowly, carefully, her reflection shifted. Her nose slimmed a bit. Her lashes darkened. A subtle rosy tint warmed her cheeks. But she didn't go too far; no glamour, no illusion. Just her. The best, truest version of her.
Then it came to her: a deep, rich brown. Serious. Soft. Something about it felt grounded. Less flashy. More real.
When she opened her eyes again, she barely recognised herself, not because she looked different but because she looked ready.
Tonks paced in tight, jittery circles just outside the main gates of Hogwarts, the gravel crunching beneath her shoes. The wind tugged at the hem of her red dress, threatening to lift it and expose her ridiculous socks, though no one would see. She glanced back nervously at the castle, half-expecting one of the portraits to catch her sneaking out. What if Helga Hufflepuff started singing?
Her hands were clammy despite the cool breeze, and her heart was beating so loudly she was convinced the Whomping Willow could feel the vibrations.
This was not just nerves. This was full-blown magical panic, like butterflies having an orchestra in her ribcage.
She had spent what felt like three separate lifetimes getting ready and probably used enough spells to qualify as a Ministry offence. The red dress had been yanked from the back of her trunk, ironed by wand, nearly burnt by wand, and then repaired again, also by wand. The matching red shoes had seemed like a good idea at the time: elegant, bold, and the kind of footwear she imagined wearing on her first real date. With him.
Now her toes were protesting, and she had not even taken ten steps. They would be back before supper, she told herself, and she could pretend the decision had been sensible all along.
At last, hurried footsteps reached her ears, growing louder. She spun around on instinct, and there he was: Lupin.
Her chest tightened at the sight; he looked human then, not just her professor. He was breathless, cheeks slightly pink from either running or nerves, or both. His hair was windblown, as though he had tried to neaten it and given up halfway through. And that waistcoat, black with just the right fit, made him look devastatingly handsome in that understated way that sneaks up on you when you are not paying attention.
"Sorry," he said, catching his breath, his hand going to his chest. "Did you wait long?"
Tonks shook her head quickly, forcing a casual shrug even as her knees wobbled inside her tights. "Nope. Just got here." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
Liar. She had been early. Embarrassingly early. She had practically loitered like a lovesick stray Kneazle, glancing down the path every few seconds for a glimpse of that familiar, thoughtful face. But she was not about to admit that.
He smiled then, just a soft, breath-of-a-thing smile, and adjusted the sleeve of his waistcoat. "Where shall we go?"
Oh Merlin, that question. Her brain did a small pirouette. She could suggest Madam Puddifoot's, classic and romantic and full of tacky lace. Or the tea room with the floating candles. Or anywhere, really. But all she said, with what she hoped was a lovely and not-too-desperate tone, was:
"Anywhere you want."
He gave her a long, squinty-eyed look. "No, no. This is your celebration. You passed with flying colours—well, one slightly wonky 'u' in Ulick Gamp, but still. I will even let you drag me into a shop or two if you are feeling dangerous."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I want to go where you want," she said again, this time with a little more insistence.
Something flickered across his face, uncertainty perhaps, or the realisation that this meant more than just a stroll through town. He looked like a man searching a map in his head, weighing options. Tonks kept quiet. She did not want to ruin whatever he was planning by pushing too hard. All she wanted was to be near him. That was enough. Everything else was just extra sparkle.
Eventually, he nodded once, as if he had made peace with whatever he had decided, and off they went towards the outskirts of Hogsmeade.
She had imagined all sorts of places. But their first stop was… a rock.
A very odd, very misshapen rock, half-covered in moss and tilted awkwardly as though it had had one too many pints the night before. Tonks stared at it in silence for a full five seconds, then turned to him with both eyebrows raised.
"Er… what exactly are we doing, Professor?"
"This," Lupin said, with far too much excitement for a man pointing at a lumpy bit of granite, "is one of the sites of the goblin rebellion of 1612."
She blinked. "Is it now?" Honestly, it looked more like someone had stubbed their toe on it in 1612 and left it there out of spite.
"They were fierce battles," he went on, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "Blood everywhere. Goblins shouting, humans shouting back. Here, look closer. You can still see the markings they left behind."
Tonks bent forward obediently, squinting at the stone. "I do not know, Professor. Kind of looks like a goblin's face if you have had one too many butterbeers."
"Exactly!" he said, triumphant, as though she had just solved some ancient riddle.
She could not help laughing. Only Remus Lupin would take her to a battlefield on a first date and make it feel like a privilege. There was something about the way his eyes lit up when he talked about history, as though he wasn't just remembering facts but reliving them, that made her stomach do something warm and ridiculous.
She liked seeing him like this. Unburdened. Excited. Almost boyish.
Next, they wandered into a crooked little shop off the high street of Hogsmeade, the sort of place Tonks might normally rush past without a second glance. She might have walked past it a hundred times before without noticing. The windows were fogged from the inside, and the sign outside looked as if it hadn't been repainted since Merlin's beard first went grey. But Lupin had veered towards it as though it had called to him, so of course she followed.
The moment she stepped inside, Tonks was hit with the musty scent of old parchment, pipe smoke, and something faintly resembling pickled fish. Shelves were crammed from floor to ceiling with peculiar oddities; some probably genuine relics of magical history, others almost certainly just bits of old tat with a story slapped on and a steep price scribbled underneath.
She wandered between the cluttered aisles, eyes wide with curiosity. Her gaze fell on something dangling from a hat stand: a hideous, sagging object that looked as if someone had tried to enchant a jellyfish and failed spectacularly.
"What's this?" she asked, plucking it from the stand as though it might bite her. It dangled from her fingers, wobbly and faintly wet-looking.
Lupin turned from a nearby shelf, took one look, and gave a small huff of laughter. "Ah, that's Uric the Oddball's jellyfish hat," he said, sounding far too impressed for what he was pointing at. "Legend has it he wore it every morning to breakfast. He also shared a flat with fifty pet Augureys and used to try to train them to sing in harmony."
Tonks raised her eyebrows, then looked back at the hat. "Do I look like someone who keeps a choir of gloomy birds and has not washed in a fortnight?"
Without hesitation, Lupin nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. It suits you perfectly."
He coughed, as if surprised by his own boldness, then pretended to study a shelf of cracked snuffboxes.
That earned him a light punch to the shoulder, but she was laughing and could not help it. Her cheeks flushed as she turned away and marched to the counter. "Well, now I've got to buy it. If only to protect it from your sense of fashion."
The shopkeeper, a bony wizard who looked as if he had not smiled since the Goblin Wars, gave her a suspicious once-over before wrapping it in some crinkly brown paper. She paid in coins that clinked in her nervous, slightly sweaty palm. She could not believe she had actually blushed. Honestly, she was behaving like a teenager. Well, she was one, but still.
Back on the cobbled street, the cool air hit her cheeks as they strolled aimlessly. The breeze brushed through her hair, or at least what little was showing beneath the hood of her jacket. Her feet, however, were staging a quiet but determined rebellion.
Why did I wear heels? she thought miserably, biting back a wince with every step. These shoes were the dark wizard's work. A literal conspiracy. Wizard torture. And all for the sake of trying to look nice. Which, now that she thought about it, he had not even commented on. Typical. But then again, he had said she looked good in the jellyfish hat. Was that something?
She glanced at him sideways as he spoke, her eyes drinking in the faint curve of his mouth whenever he got going about something historical. He was in his element now.
"Hogsmeade Village was founded by Hengist of Woodcroft," he said suddenly, in that lecturing yet gentle tone he used when he grew excited about obscure facts. "Same chap who fled Muggle persecution. You know, for being a wizard and possibly for having terrible social skills."
Tonks tilted her head, genuinely interested despite herself. "When was that?"
"Somewhere in the tenth or eleventh century. Give or take a few dragons." He grinned at his own joke. "He was actually sorted into your house, too."
"Wait, Hufflepuff?" she asked, surprised and maybe just a little proud.
He nodded. "Him and his brother Horsa. Right pair of trailblazers, those two. There's a bust of Hengist on the fourth floor at Hogwarts, just next to the portrait of the Fat Friar after he's had a few too many Butterbeers."
She blinked at him. "How do you remember all this?"
"I forget birthdays and where I've left my wand most days. But this sort of thing sticks."
That answer made her feel warm. Not just because it was sweet in that absent-minded-professor sort of way, but because he was not pretending. No bravado, no puffed-up cleverness. Just Lupin, telling the truth.
Then, just as she was about to comment on it, he reached out and lightly took her hand as they turned down a quieter side lane.
Her heart stopped. Or maybe it stuttered so hard it skipped an entire beat.
His fingers were warm and steady against hers, as though the gesture had been decided on after long, silent thought. He did not look at her and just kept walking as though it were perfectly natural. As though they were a couple.
"Come on, Tonks," he said, pulling her gently in the direction of another winding lane. "There's one more place I want to show you."
She blinked. Did he just call me Tonks? Not Ms Tonks. Not Nymphadora. Just Tonks.
A grin spread slowly across her face, uncontainable and wide as anything. Her chest felt full to bursting, light and bright all at once.
Then, as if reading her mind and teasing her just to see her reaction, he added, "Keep going, Nymphadora Tonks."
She shot him a mock glare. "I'll let you off this once, Professor," she said with a wink, giving his hand a little squeeze. "But only 'cause this is technically a date."
And just like that, the words were out in the open between them, bright, awkward, and wonderful.
A date. It was a date.
And she didn't want it to end.
Tonks exploded through the door of the Room of Requirement like a firework with opinions. Or a woman who'd just sprinted through the castle in footwear designed by mediaeval sadists. One of her red heels skidded across the floor and thunked under the sofa with all the finality of a fallen comrade.
"Merlin's flaming knickers, my toes are actually planning a mutiny," she groaned, balancing on one socked foot while peeling the other shoe off. "Never again. Heels are cancelled. Outlawed. Banned by wizarding law, as far as I'm concerned."
Chiara looked up from the armchair where she was curled, half-lost in a book, eyes wide with delight. "You're back! So, how was it? Did he kiss you? Did he profess his undying devotion? Did you elope, and now you're secretly married with twin Kneazles?"
Tonks collapsed on her back in a heap. "Slow down, woman. I haven't even caught my breath. Or feeling in my left ankle."
Penny poked her head out from behind a tower of parchment like a suspicious meerkat. "Start at the beginning. What was he wearing? What did you wear? Who chose the location? Wait—where did you go?"
"And did you hold his hand?" Badeea called, dragging a pouffe across the floor and planting herself with the determination of someone expecting tea, biscuits, and scandal.
Tonks let out a breathless, dreamy sigh and stared up at the ceiling, still pink in the face. "Alright. So. He was late."
Chiara gasped. "No."
"Only by a few minutes," Tonks said quickly, sitting up and brushing imaginary creases from her knees. "And he came running up to the gates all flustered and breathless like some tragic Byronic hero. His hair was an actual mess, a proper hot mess. And he had this black waistcoat on, nothing fancy, but it fit him just a bit too well, you know?"
Penny clutched the nearest cushion. "Like, the kind of fit that haunts your dreams?"
"Exactly," Tonks said dramatically. "The sort of thing that should be illegal for someone who shops like he's allergic to spending money."
"And you?" Badeea wiggled her eyebrows. "Don't be modest. Tell us."
Tonks smirked. "I wore the dress. The red one."
Collective gasps echoed around the room like a choir of scandalised pixies.
"You wore heels?" Chiara said, half in awe, half in genuine concern. "You said heels were invented by goblins to punish witches."
"They were, and I stand by that. I might actually have a toe injury; I'm not joking." Tonks rubbed her foot with dramatic flair. "But worth it. I looked smashing."
"I can't believe you sacrificed your feet for Remus Lupin," Penny muttered. "Respect."
"So where did he take you?" Badeea leaned in, face glowing with curiosity.
Tonks grinned. "Right, brace yourselves. First stop: a goblin rebellion site."
Three seconds of complete silence.
Penny blinked. "A what?"
"A goblin battlefield. In Hogsmeade. Apparently from the 1600s. It looked like a wonky boulder someone tripped over once and then left there out of spite. He gave me a whole dramatic speech about goblins, blood, glory, and rebellion. It was like one of those wizarding history plays, but with actual passion. His eyes lit up like fairy lights."
Chiara let out a groan. "Oh no. You loved it, didn't you?"
"I so did," Tonks admitted, laughing. "It was absolutely ridiculous, but he made it sound like some epic saga. I swear, I could practically hear the goblins screaming in the background."
"Only you would find gore and gravel romantic," Penny muttered, shaking her head.
"Oi," Tonks pointed at her, grinning, "don't knock the gravel until you've heard Professor Lupin recite goblin political history with that much enthusiasm and hand gestures."
"And then?" Badeea said eagerly, tucking her legs under her.
"Then we popped into this tiny, dusty shop, right? The kind with shelves about to collapse, full of things no one's dusted since the invention of wands. He showed me all these bizarre artefacts—there was this book that might've been breathing—and I found this."
Tonks leaned to the side and dragged the crinkled brown paper towards her, opening it like treasure. From within, she pulled out what looked like a deflated jellyfish on strings, slightly squishy to the touch.
Chiara recoiled. "What is that?"
"The jellyfish hat," Tonks declared proudly. "Once worn by Uric the Oddball. Apparently, he wore it to breakfast and kept a choir of Augureys in his house. And Professor Lupin told me it suited me."
There was a beat of silence. Then:
"You're doomed," Badeea grinned.
"Properly done for," Penny added. "You've entered the artefact-flirting stage."
Tonks flopped backwards again, cradling the jellyfish hat to her chest like a baby Kneazle. "I did not know I could fall in love over historical headwear. But here we are, apparently."
"Did he buy you anything, then?" Chiara asked, eyes gleaming.
"Nope. I bought the hat myself. He just gave me that look, you know. The one where his eyes do the crinkly thing and you suddenly forget how to stand properly."
"Oh no," Badeea whispered. "She is actually smitten."
"I am so smitten I am halfway to writing his surname after mine in a notebook," Tonks said mournfully. "We held hands, by the way."
More gasps.
"Just casually?" Penny asked.
"He just did it. Reached over and took it like it was no big deal. And then he said my name. Tonks. No title. No 'Nymphadora'. Just Tonks."
Chiara fanned herself with her book. "I feel like I need a lie-down, and it was not even my date."
"And when he called me Nymphadora, I did not even hex him. I let it slide." She paused, then added, "Only once, mind."
"You are in deep," Badeea said solemnly.
"I am in real deep," Tonks sighed.
They stared at her for a moment, Tonks still lying flat on the floor with the jellyfish hat perched delicately over her stomach like a strange trophy. Her red dress was crumpled, one foot still bare, and her hair had done that frizzy halo thing it always did when the wind got involved. None of it mattered.
Because today had been wonderful.
Weird, slightly painful, educational, and absolutely wonderful.
Tonks smiled, smaller now, softer, as if something had melted behind her ribs and made space for this moment. "It was not your usual sort of date. No roses, no fancy dinner, no awkward string quartet in the background. Nothing you would read in Witch Weekly under 'Top Ten Swoonworthy Spots to Snag a Soulmate'. But it was him, you know. He brought me into his world, goblin rebellions and eccentric wizards with terrible hygiene and hats made of sea creatures, and I… I liked being there. It was public, simple, and exactly as proper as it needed to be."
The room quietened. No teasing now, no snorts or sharp remarks. Just the fire cracking gently and the low hum of magic that always made the Room of Requirement feel as if it was listening too.
"You really like him," Badeea said softly, all playfulness gone.
Tonks gave a crooked shrug, one shoulder rising as if it did not want to be held responsible. "I think I might more than like him," she admitted, eyes fixed somewhere distant, perhaps on the memory of his hand in hers or the way he looked at her when she laughed too loudly in that dusty little shop. "But do not go writing any wedding invitations just yet. It is complicated."
"Everything worth having is," Penny said, moving to sit beside her. She bumped her shoulder lightly against Tonks's. "You deserve someone who sees how brilliant you are. Not just the fun bits but the real bits, the mad ones, the messy ones. All of you. If it is him, then good. We will support you."
Tonks looked at her properly then, and something in her chest gave a grateful ache. It was one thing to fumble your way through feelings. It was another to be seen in them. She smiled, warmer now, with something blooming behind her eyes. "Thanks. I think I needed to say it out loud to realise it is real. That it was not just in my head."
There was a pause, not awkward, just the kind of quiet that comes after truths settle in the air like dust motes catching firelight.
A yawn took her by surprise, long and dramatic, halfway to a groan.
"Well," she said, stretching her arms overhead until her shoulder popped, "I am officially done in. I am going to soak my poor feet and have a very serious heart-to-heart with my new jellyfish hat about life choices."
"Give it our regards," Chiara called from the armchair, flipping a page.
"And try to remember what Remus said this time," Penny added with a smirk. "Write it down. With ink. Not lipstick on the mirror again, please."
"I stand by that lipstick note," Tonks said proudly as she got to her feet. "It was poetic."
"Yeah, well, it also stained the mirror for two weeks and scared three first-years," Badeea muttered. "I told them it was a ghost trying to confess to a murder."
Tonks laughed, loud and unashamed, unbothered by her hair sticking up in five different directions or the fact one foot was still bare. Her heart fluttered in her chest, not in that panicky what-if-I-am-wrong way, but in a steady rhythm, like something had finally clicked into place. She had taken a step, one she was not ready to name just yet, but in the right direction.
She climbed the stairs two at a time, the jellyfish hat tucked under her arm like a badge of honour. Maybe it was. A strange, squishy symbol of a date she could never have imagined.
There was so much she did not know. Where this with Professor Lupin was going. What would happen when timetables resumed and obligations tightened. It was complicated, just like she had said.
But one thing was clear.
It might have been the oddest, most ridiculous, least traditionally romantic first date in Hogwarts history.
She would not trade it for all the roses and candlelit dinners in the world.
Not when it felt real.
Not when it was him.