Of all the differences between the first Order of the Phoenix and the this one, something that was proving quite difficult for Remus to assimilate was the fact that now Severus Snape was addressing them in a contemptuous tone from the far end of the table, instead of looking at them from pictures on the table with the sign "wanted" written over them.

It was almost impossible to listen to him with the proper seriousness without imagining him the way he had known him long ago at school, greasy hair, would-be superior manners, disdain for everything that had not been pure-blooded enough, and a considerable admiration of the Dark Arts. Getting pass all that, and the fact that it was very difficult not to call him "Snivellus" in front of the entire Order, was proving to be really difficult.

"… gather as many followers as possible, starting from the ones that took part of…" he had indeed a monotonous voice.

Add now this other colourful distraction at his left side and it was a wonder he was not bouncing up and down out of impatience.

He was probably being really irresponsible about it. He should be paying attention, of course, but how could he when the flowery scent of that cheerful, beautiful witch sitting next to him was treacherously filling his brain and making him yearn to stretch his hand and just touch hers.

Remus took a glimpse of her.

Tonks seemed to be listening to Snape's every word, while scribbling something in a corner of a piece of parchment. Her eyes were going rapidly from the Potions master to her parchment, while her free hand tapped softly against the surface of the table.

He had to focus on Snape. He needed to. Not only because of the importance of it, but especially because he knew that if he looked at her any longer, he would not be able to take his eyes off her again.

"… be decided until he proves his true allegiances to the Dark Lord…"

Who was Snape talking about? Was it really important? Remus was sure it was, but still, how could he focus on that now? He had been distracted since his arrival at number 12 Grimmauld Place that evening. The sight of her, sitting at the table and drinking naturally from a bottle of Butterbeer had made his insides melt.

Who had been in the kitchen at the time? He could not remember, even though he knew he had greeted them all. It was unimportant, though, for there it had been the one person he wanted to see more than anything in the world.

Sirius had said something but he had not registered it, he had just seen that the chair next to her was empty. He could not believe he was this lucky: for a split of a second he considered Apparating the few meters that separated him from her, even though that was probably the worse idea ever; still he needed to get to that chair fast though.

Somehow he had managed. And then, he had wanted to say something cleaver, something that would be shared only by the two of them, a small something that would tell her, and only her, that she was the only thing in his mind.

"Nymphadora," he whispered, feeling that even though he was risking getting hexed by her until next month, it was a risk worth taking.

"Wotcher, Remus," she replied, looking at him with those wonderful bright eyes and, for once, forgetting to scold him for the use of her surname.

Was there a more beautiful sound in the world? But he needed more; he needed to make sure she was real and not a product of his imagination. So he gently brushed her shoulder trying to make it look as a casual move while sitting down. The heat he felt in his hand spread all over his body and all he wanted to do was to keep touching her.

Was it possible that Snape was finishing his dull report? It seemed that he was getting to a conclusion, even though Remus had not the sightless idea of what it had all been about. Maybe he could catch some of it from the questions the other members would ask. Bill's very specific one made him realise that was impossible. He would have to ask Sirius later, although he very much suspected he would not have paid attention either, due to entirely different reasons of course.

He was balancing in the back legs of his chair, looking at Snape with a murderous expression. Probably he had been thinking how the odds for him were to effectively hexing Snape without any member of the Order noticing it.

So, Remus had to admit he did not know the first thing about what everybody was discussing now. Was it terribly wrong if he let his mind float even further, to his memories of the previous night? Or to make plans for his immediate future?

What would happen when this dreadful meeting would be over? There was nothing settled, but he was sure that whatever it was, it would involve him and Tonks, and nobody else. Even though last night they had not said a thing, he just knew something considerable had changed between them.

And only because of that tiny little detail: a kiss. The starting point of everything; something that had been way too short but all the same so intense it was a wonder he had had the strength to finish it and go home. He did not want to put any pressure on her; now he felt he did not need to, her response to that kiss had said it all.

People were standing up now, and he had to make a considerable effort to pretend he had been listening all along. Mundungus said goodbye to the room at large and exited the kitchen followed by other Order members. Was it finally over? He could not believe it. And then a terrible pressing question formed in his mind.

What should I do now?

Should I take her hand and leave with her? Tell her anything? Wait for her to approach me?

Sirius made him a sign and he approached him, trying to win some time, while leaving her the possibility to chose.

"Enjoyed Snivellus speech?" Sirius asked.

"Pretty insightful, yes," he said airily.

"It must have been so, you were grinning the entire time," the arching of Sirius' eyebrow was an accusation in itself.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sirius gave a soft bark-like laugh.

"Of course you don't, Moony. I'll expect you to explain me what Snivelly said later, though."

Remus glanced at Tonks'. She seemed to be lost in conversation with Mad-Eye. What was he supposed to do now?

"Pretty, isn't she?" Sirius voice came from a very long distance.

"Huh?" Remus had to make an extra effort to pay attention.

"Tonksie, there. She's very pretty. But of course, you know that already."

What was she doing? Leaving? Tonks had gathered her things hastily and had said "Good night" to nobody in particular, and especially not to him. She was leaving. Without him?

"Sirius, get a pastime," he said dismissively and without bothering with goodbyes he started climbing the stairs out the kitchen.

She could not leave. He had to talk to her at least.

Tonks was at the end of the hall, her hand on the front door; he needed to stop her. At least, if she wanted to forget all that had happened the night before, he wanted to hear her saying it.

"Tonks," his voice came up a little louder than he had expected.

She turned around, slowly, looking as natural as possible, but with a bright glow in her eyes, distinguishable even at the gloomy light of the hall.

"Remus," she just said. And he felt he could listen to her saying his name like that forever.

"You're leaving," he did not know if that had been a question, a statement or even an accusation. For him it felt like all of them at once.

"Yeah, I…" the nonchalant expression seemed to crash into the ground. Suddenly she looked anxious and shy and ever so adorable. "I didn't know if… if I should have… waited for you."

Her voice was now almost inaudible and he approached her, his heart beating madly at the proximity. How could he say what he had in mind?

"As a matter of fact," Remus started, "I was sort of waiting for you, so we could go together."

So, there it was, he had said it.

"Oh," was her reply.

He did not need any more.

"Shall we, then?"

She nodded and he felt his smile broaden so much he wondered for an instant how was it possible. He opened the door for her and with a calm movement, he took her hand. Her fingers interlacing with his felt just right.

Both descended the few steps into the gloomy street. He felt his heart was about to burst with joy.