The corridors of Hogwarts had never felt so narrow and so wide at the same time. Tonks all but floated up the stone steps leading to the Room of Requirement, her parchment clasped in her hands 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 up to find your wildest dream not only real but waiting at the door with a grin and a coat.
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."
"I passed," Tonks said, breathless, her smile so wide it hurt. "Well… technically not quite, but Professor Lupin said it counts!"
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 crossed it out and rewrote the score himself."
Chiara practically tackled her onto the bed. "You legend! I knew you'd do it!"
"But wait—" Badeea, sitting cross-legged with a book on magical architecture in her lap, narrowed her eyes. "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?!"
"Where's he taking you? Merlin's beard—what if it's 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—" Her voice faltered, the joy in her chest suddenly tight with something deeper. "He looked 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."
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 pointed out 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—like 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 a squeeze on the shoulder. "He's lucky to have someone like you see him. I hope he knows that."
Tonks exhaled slowly. "I hope so too."
The days had a cruel way of moving faster when you didn't want 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 thought she'd forget. That maybe the fire in her would burn hot for a moment and fade with the pressure of exams or teenage distraction.
But she hadn't.
She'd done well in her exam, almost a perfect score in hand, and joy that felt like sunshine breaking through the rafters of his carefully composed restraint.
And now, the date loomed.
Remus ran a hand through his hair, resting his fingers at his temple. A dull ache pulsed beneath the skin—a reminder. It was always there lately, subtle but relentless. The Healers had told him the tumour wasn't operable. Magical treatments had only slowed it. Months, maybe. Not years. That was the best he could hope for.
It was a strange thing, carrying the knowledge of your own deadline. Everything became sharper, sadder. Precious.
And now there was her.
Tonks.
How could a girl so young have managed to unmoor a man like him?
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, 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 cross 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—his approval?
Merlin, he hoped it wasn't that. 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—he was tired. The tumour pulsed again behind his eye like 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. Inside: a neatly folded shirt he used to wear to ministry functions before his condition had turned him into a recluse, and a tie Sirius once said made him look "mildly less like a tragic poet."
He held the tie for a moment.
She deserved something better than a man wasting away. But he would give her honesty. He would give her one good day or evening. If this 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 circled faintly 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 keep from falling in love with someone when they've already lit a fire in you you thought had long gone cold?
One week later, Tonks had never fussed so much over a bloody outfit in her entire life.
Her bed looked like a battlefield—robes, skirts, jumpers, tights, Muggle jeans, and a few very questionable fashion choices she couldn't believe she owned were strewn everywhere like fallen soldiers. She stood in the middle of it all, one sock on, hair a stubborn shade of nervous turquoise, hands on her hips.
"Okay. Okay. Chill," she muttered, pacing in a circle. "It's just a date. With a professor. Who's brilliant. And kind. And brooding. Merlin's trousers—"
She flopped backward onto the mess of clothes, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding like she'd just outrun a Hungarian Horntail. What if this was a mistake?
What if he regretted saying yes? What if he was just being polite? 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, like he was trying not to hope. The way his voice softened when he praised her work. How he looked at her exam paper. How he smiled.
Her stomach fluttered again. That wasn't pity. That 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 features 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 came the hair.
She tried pink. Too familiar. Lavender. Too romantic. Blonde. Too weird.
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 worn path crunching beneath her shoes. The wind tugged playfully at the hem of her red dress, threatening to lift it and expose her ridiculous socks underneath—not that anyone would see them. She glanced back nervously at the castle, half-expecting someone—anyone—to be watching. What if one of the portraits was? Merlin, 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 wasn't just nerves. This was full-blown, magical, butterflies-having-an-orchestra-in-her-ribcage panic.
She'd spent what felt like three separate lifetimes getting ready. 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. They were cute, elegant, and precisely the kind of footwear she imagined wearing on her first real date. With him.
But now her toes were protesting, and she hadn't even taken ten steps yet.
The eyeliner had been another war entirely. One wrong blink and she'd jabbed herself in the eye, nearly cursed the mirror, and sworn off makeup forever—until she'd caught a glimpse of herself with just the right amount smudged beneath her lashes. It made her eyes pop. It made her look like she knew what she was doing.
She didn't. Not even a little.
And then—finally—the hurried footsteps reached her ears, growing louder. She spun around on instinct, and there he was: Professor Lupin.
Remus.
Her stomach did a little flip she pretended not to notice.
He was breathless, cheeks slightly pink from either running or nerves—or both. His hair looked windblown and untamed, like he'd tried to neaten it but given up halfway through. And that waistcoat—black, with just the right fit—made him look devastatingly handsome in the kind of understated way that sneaks up on you when you're not paying attention.
"Sorry," he said, catching his breath, his hand going to his chest. "Did you wait long?"
Tonks gave her head a quick shake, forcing a casual shrug even as her knees wobbled inside her tights. "Nope. Just got here."
Liar. She'd been early. Embarrassingly early. She'd practically loitered like a lovesick stray kneazle, glancing down the path every five seconds for a glimpse of that familiar, thoughtful face. But she wasn't 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, romantic, 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'll even let you drag me into a shop or two if you're feeling dangerous."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I want to go where you want," she said again, this time with a bit more insistence.
Something flickered across his face then—uncertainty, maybe, 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 didn't 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'd made peace with whatever he'd just decided, and off they went on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.
Their first stop was… a rock.
A very odd, very misshapen rock, half-covered in moss and tilted awkwardly like it 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," Professor 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 dunno, Professor. Kind of looks like a goblin's face if you've had one too many butterbeers."
"Exactly!" he said, triumphant, like she'd just solved some ancient riddle.
She couldn't 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—like 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 main high street of Hogsmeade, the sort of place Tonks would normally rush past without a second glance. 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 Professor Lupin had veered towards it like it was calling to him, so in they went.
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 like someone had tried to enchant a jellyfish and failed spectacularly.
"What's this?" she asked, plucking it from the stand like it might bite her. It dangled from her fingers, wobbly and faintly wet-looking.
Professor 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 hasn't washed in a fortnight?"
Without hesitation, Professor Lupin nodded solemnly. "Absolutely. It suits you perfectly."
That earned him a light punch to the shoulder, but she was laughing—couldn't help it. Her cheeks flushed, though, 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 like he hadn't 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 couldn't believe she'd actually blushed. Merlin, she was behaving like a teenager.
Back on the cobbled street, they strolled aimlessly, the cool spring breeze brushing 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, Professor Lupin hadn't 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 way he talked, the way his mouth curved slightly at the corners whenever he got going about something historical. And 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 got 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 10th or 11th 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 bit 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?"
He gave her a sheepish sort of smile. "I forget people's birthdays. I forget where I've left my wand most days. But this sort of thing? It sticks."
That answer—it made her feel warm. Not just because it was sweet in that understated, absent-minded-professor sort of way, but because he wasn't pretending. No bravado, no puffed-up cleverness. Just Professor Lupin, telling the truth.
Then, just as she was about to comment on it, he reached out—and took her hand.
Her heart stopped. Or maybe it stuttered so hard it just skipped an entire beat.
His fingers were warm and steady against hers, like the gesture had been decided on after long, silent thought. He didn't look at her when he did it. Just kept walking, like it was perfectly natural. Like 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 like it had been flooded with sunlight.
Then, as if reading her mind and trying to poke at her like a mischievous older sibling, 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, 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 dramatically across the room, thunking 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."
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 dropped like a dead weight onto the thick rug in the middle of the room, flopping 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 firm 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—like, a 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. I maintain 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 practically glowing.
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 no one's moved it since. He gave me a whole dramatic speech about the goblins and blood and glory and rebellion—it was like one of those wizarding history plays, but with passion. His eyes lit up like fairy lights."
Chiara let out a soft 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 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 and 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 it was treasure. From within, she pulled out what looked like a deflated jellyfish on strings.
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 it was a baby Kneazle. "I didn't know I could fall in love over historical headwear. But here we are."
"Did he buy you anything?" Chiara asked, her eyes gleaming.
"Nope. But 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's actually smitten."
"I'm so smitten that I'm 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 grabbed 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 wasn't even my date."
"And when he called me Nymphadora, I didn't even hex him. I let it slide."
"You're in deep," Badeea said solemnly.
"I'm in real deep," Tonks sighed.
They all stared at her for a moment, Tonks still lying flat on the floor with the jellyfish hat perched delicately over her stomach like a weird trophy. Her red dress was crumpled, one foot was still bare, and her hair had done that frizzy halo thing it always did when the wind got involved. But none of it mattered.
Because today had been wonderful.
Weird, slightly painful, educational, and absolutely wonderful.
Tonks smiled, smaller now, but softer—like something had melted behind her ribs and made space for this moment. "It wasn't your usual sort of date. No roses, no fancy dinner, no awkward string quartet in the background. Nothing you'd 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, eccentric wizards with terrible hygiene, hats made of sea creatures—and I… I liked being there."
The room quieted, the air charged with something gentler than before. No teasing. No snorts or sarcastic remarks. Just the sound of the fire crackling and the low hum of magical energy that always made the Room of Requirement feel like it was listening, too.
"You really like him," Badeea said softly, her voice stripped of all playfulness now.
Tonks gave a crooked shrug, one shoulder rising like it didn't want to be held responsible. "I think I might more than like him," she admitted, eyes still fixed somewhere distant—maybe on the memory of his hand in hers or the way he'd looked at her when she'd laughed too loudly in that dusty little shop. "But don't go writing any wedding invitations just yet. It's 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's him, then… good. We'll support you."
Tonks looked at her friend then, really looked, 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, something blooming behind her eyes. "Thanks. I think I needed to say it out loud to realise it's real. That it wasn't just in my head."
There was a pause, but it wasn't awkward. Just the kind of quiet that came after truths had settled into the air like dust motes catching firelight.
And then a yawn took her by surprise—long, dramatic, and halfway to a groan.
"Well," she said, stretching her arms overhead until her shoulder popped, "I am officially done in. I'm 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 after her from the armchair, flipping a page in her book.
"And try to remember what Remus said this time," Penny added with a smirk. "Write it down. With ink. Not lipstick on the mirror like last time."
"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 had to tell them it was a ghost trying to confess to a murder."
Tonks laughed—loud, unashamed, unbothered by her hair sticking up in five different directions or the fact that one foot was still bare. Her heart fluttered in her chest, not in that panicky, what-if-I'm-wrong way, but in a steady sort of rhythm, like something had finally clicked into place. Like she'd taken a step—one she wasn't ready to name just yet—but in the right direction.
She climbed the stairs two at a time, her jellyfish hat tucked under her arm like a badge of honour. And maybe it was. A strange, squishy symbol of a date that had been unlike any she could've imagined.
There was so much she didn't know. Where this thing with Professor Lupin was going. What would happen when reality crept back in—when timetables resumed and obligations tightened? It was complicated, just like she'd said.
But one thing was clear.
That might've been the oddest, most ridiculous, least traditionally romantic first date in Hogwarts history.
And she wouldn't trade it for all the roses and candlelit dinners in the world.
Not when it had felt real.
Not when it had been him.