Tonks reached blearily for the lamp on her desk, sweeping a stack of signed forms to one side. Whether it was lack of sleep or her usual clumsiness or an unseen magical creature moving the vintage brass swan stand a few inches, she didn't know, but a few seconds later the glass lampshade had fallen and shattered all over her left hand.

She stared at the spurting blood in a detached, bemused fashion.

I don't think we should see each other more : it's too dangerous.

The blood, beginning to form a delicate pool on the wood veneer, recalled the claret she had served with her spiced duck roast and confit potatoes. A birthday dinner for Remus. He arrived in an excellent mood, kissed her lightly and still a little shyly on the lips and teased her in an alluringly Maurauderish fashion about her latest gothic horror of a purple cushion.

She had been playing it cool. A fine, cultivated meal, a fitted but not over lurid velvet dress. Tonks was sure Remus was ready to be fully seduced.

Feeling slightly dizzy, Tonks rose and walked to the office bathroom. She rinsed her hand, examined the cut: no glass splinters, not too deep. She performed a quick healing spell and sought out a bandage from what Moody called The Insufficient Vigilance Repair Kit. She looked at herself in the mirror. Pallid, dark circles, hair half blue, half mousey brown. An attempt at morphing it to a consistent shade made her feel wobbly again.

How long has that been there?

She had scrubbed the wall, attempted various charms but the writing, darkly magical, had reappeared at intervals:

Werewolf lovers die young

An armchair pushed against the offending sentence did the trick. So she thought.

Tonks hadn't reckoned on Remus' fine tuned perceptions or his chivalry. The armchair was now fairly close to the door adjoining the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow when he saw it.

Just fancied a change, good as a rest, isn't it?

She felt the breezy tone was bang on but he'd given her anxious smile number three, not her favourite.

As she opened the door from the kitchen, levitating the laden tray, he shifted the armchair to allow her room for manoeuvre. How she'd managed to land the tray on the dinner table with Were screaming at her from her lovely, cheerful tangerine wall, she'd never understand.

As if duelling, Tonks thought on her feet. Remus must have his back to that wall while she considered how she would handle the situation. She pulled out a chair for him with a mock house elf style bow. He sat in it, smiling genuinely now.

He complimented her on how wonderful it all smelt. She managed to serve them both, spelling her hands steady, After a few mouthfuls, a few mischievous comments about muggle rubber ducks, he noticed that her answers lacked her usual playfulness and saw that she was pushing the roast around her plate without eating.

Don't you like it? This is great, Tonks, really, you know that floating duck in the bath thing was a joke,don't you? This is chef standard.

Tonks shovelled a forkful into her mouth too fast and nearly choked.

He got to his feet, puzzled and concerned.

She couldn't move the armchair again without drawing attention to it. She did not know how she was going to handle this situation.

Remus, I don't want you to be bothered by this….

He shoved the armchair aside with that hidden strength she found so erotic. He gazed at the show off calligraphy, this evening a deep navy. His face went the shade of dirty chalk. He chewed on his index fingernail. She'd done her best not to cry but the look of anguish in his eyes undid her.

It's not death eaters, Remus. It's Garson – he's a vain, vindictive little twit. He'd never do anything, he's all mouth, no wand action…

He was too polite not to finish the meal. He hugged her, kissed her and thanked for her gift, an antique edition of Jane Eyre. He performed the washing up spells and told her it was the best birthday meal he'd ever eaten. His eyes were absent.

I'll sleep on the couch tonight.

He'd done that before but now it was protection detail.

In the morning, he'd left before she could prepare breakfast. His meticulous writing on an envelope greeted her, placed with offensive precision in exact centre of the table. How typical of the uptight, anal, cardigan-wearing bastard.

She opened it.

Tonks, you are the smartest, the loveliest, the funniest and bravest witch I know.

So you already know what I'm going to say.

Which is, fond as I am of you, your safety comes first

I don't think we should see each other anymore: it's too dangerous.

Inform your boss of what has happened immediately– you needn't compromise yourself at work by revealing the extent of our association. Tell him I was helping you with the book club. You say it is not the work of death eaters. You cannot be sure. Ask Moody to investigate. You know he's the best in the business – he'll get to bottom of it.

You will find someone to love you, someone who is worthy of you.

I don't know what I was thinking. I should have been more responsible.

Please take good care of yourself, Tonks.

I have taken the liberty of putting some extra wards on the flat.

Remus

Tonks wanted to scream. She wished she could shove that early edition Bronte up his bony, perfectly elegant arse. Her cat, Mrs Danvers, chose that moment to saunter in from the bedroom. She mewled in a subdued fashion as Tonks plumped her onto her lap and sobbed snottily into her silky cream fur. Patronising pumpkinhead. So brave and smart that she was unable to make a decision for herself about an appropriate relationship or what constituted real danger.

Mad Eye Moody was checking on his new survey cam and finishing off a heat struck tuna sandwich. The bathroom was satisfyingly well lit. He watched Tonks walk in. Working late again. Keen as a niffler after silver cutlery that lass. He saw her running her hand under a tap and zoomed in. Another accident. Keen but a mobile disaster zone; she'd never have made it through Stealth and Tracking without his expert input. Adjusting the angle, he received a close up of her face. He put his crust down, straight on a crumb infested desk, got up and made his way downstairs.

Merlin, she looked even worse in person. Slumped at her desk, which was stained with blood.

'Sorry Moody -little accident here, I'm clearing it up.'

'Everything alright, girl? Only you look like you've been doing fifty rounds with a dragon.'

Tonks pulled her lips into a frightening approximation of a smile.

'Maybe a few too many late shifts. Need to catch up on my sleep.'

'HUmph. I'll say. Can't be vigilant if you're nodding on the job. Go home, girly: get a real night's rest. Take tomorrow off.'

Then he busses her roughly on the shoulder.

Tonks started crying.

Moody was really alarmed now. He'd been training this outspoken, ebullient witch since she left Hogwarts. He'd tried to make her weep on several occasions and failed.

'What's wrong lass? Tell me. '

He listened as she told him about Remus Lupin, the book club, Garson and the magical threat on her living room wall. His sense for incomplete evidence informed him that she was omitting vital data.

'So you're pals with old Lupin. He's a fine wizard, the best.'

'You know Remus?'

A coin clinked into a relatively unvisited slot in his head. It was the way she said the name.

'You're sure you're just friends, lass?'

She swore under her breath.

'You were getting to be more than friends and he's called it off because he didn't want to endanger you.'

She stared at him, saucer-eyed.

'I've known Remus for years, lass.' He paused, his blue eye swirling in a slightly slower, more meditative fashion.

She was still speechless.

Moody leaned in and tapped her on the nose.

'Go home and sleep. I want you in the office on Friday, 9am sharp. I'm calling Butterfield in. We're all going to have a nice little chat.'

She turned and stumbled towards the exit.

'Tonks!' he called.

She nodded.

'It's ok. Remus upgraded the wards on the flat.'

Moody smiled. Flighty at times but a sound lass.