Auhor's note and warning: Hey, back again, finally, with smut as promised. I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it isn't quite teh secks, because it was an agonising nightmare to produce. LOL I won't go on and on about how hesitant I am even to post it, but... you can take that part as read. :)

Thanks to those who held my hand and listened to me whinge about writing this (you know who you are, and your numbers are legion) as well as to all who took the time to review the last chapter: ishandtwofourths, slytherin360, Esme's Favorite Daughter, sophie-hatter, remuslives23, Velvet Storm, Aeshan, cackles the witch, Av3322, DragonDi, LadyLish, RemusJ, MidnightAngel325, and SomethingBorrowed,

Had We Never Loved So Blindly
by MahsaFF

He who binds himself a Joy
Doth the wingèd life destroy;
But he who kisses the Joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity's sunrise.

- William Blake, Eternities

Art can never exist without Naked Beauty displayed.

- William Blake, The Laocoön

Two weeks ago

Tonks found Remus tucked away in the library, hunched over the latest report from Dedalus. He was frowning mightily as his fingers unconsciously plucked at his hair.

"Wotcher," she said. "Like some help?"

Taking his lovely smile for an answer, she budged in next to him on the settee and peered at the rather crumpled parchment in his hand, knocking her shoulder against his companionably.

They had the house to themselves for once—not counting Sirius, of course, who was off moping Merlin-knew-where. And there could certainly be no better way to spend an afternoon, she thought as she tucked her feet under her, than alone in Remus's company, even if it meant summarising field reports for the next meeting. At least they made a good team: Remus was the acknowledged authority on abysmal penmanship, after all, and she had enough imagination to fill in the gaping holes in any narrative, even Ded's.

"So..." she said, after they'd been puzzling over said narrative for several minutes. She began jotting notes on a separate parchment. "He's followed up with Pritchard about those mysterious lights north of Oxford. No joy there, just Muggle kids on motorbikes. But... we need to be on the lookout for trolls in—"

"Tolls, it says here," Remus interjected.

"Don't be thick," she replied shortly, still writing. "It's trolls. No one warns about tolls."

"They might do, if they didn't have the correct change."

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly and fighting back a grin. Sometimes Remus had a queer sense of humour. She gave him her best quelling look, the one that worked well on her three-year-old nephew. "Right then. We need to watch out for trolls or tolls in Aberdeen—"

"Abingdon," Remus corrected, unquelled.

"Abing— Oh, for the love of— It says 'Aberdeen' right here!" Her finger jabbed the ink-blotted parchment.

"Now you're being thick. It's 'Abingdon' plain as plain, and it is right next to Oxford." His finger brushed hers, sending a little frisson up her arm. Damn him.

Tonks gave him a sidelong glance, but he was quite innocently examining the parchment.

This rather pleasurable bickering continued for some time, although it must be admitted that they made very little actual headway—on the report, at least. She was in mid-grumble about something or other when Remus reached out absently to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and before she knew quite what she was doing, before she was even aware that she had a plan in mind, she was yanking him from his seat, away from that idiotic report, and making for the stairs.

He seemed a little bemused at first; they'd never made love during the day, it not being circumspect enough for Remus's tastes, but it was obvious where she was heading. Still, he followed willingly enough, and by the time they reached the top landing he appeared to have caught her enthusiasm in a most satisfactory way. Perhaps for him, as for her, there was something more than a little exciting, almost illicit, in the idea of this day-lit tryst.

Remus opened the door to his room and stood back to let her pass inside. As she did so, Tonks was suddenly, appallingly, seized by an almost crippling insecurity. It was a sort of squeezing feeling that sometimes overtook her at odd moments, and this time it threw her headlong into a labyrinth of second thoughts; she questioned the wisdom of her impulsive first move and worried what the second one should be. Did he really want this? It was broad daylight, after all. Anyone might arrive and want to speak to one of them—the house was often busier than King's Cross on school leaving day. Should she ask him? Was he going along just to please her? Because if so she'd hate that, but... how could one tell?

It was horrid, this all too frequent experience of being buffeted by uncertainty when she least expected it. She felt at times like an overgrown puppy, all hands and feet and bumbling eagerness when she wanted to appear—to be—confident and sexy, especially for him. She was making a juvenile exhibition of herself and, of course, that had to be quashed immediately.

Tonks relaxed her shoulders, took a surreptitious steadying breath and, striving for an impression of relaxed maturity, forced herself to meet Remus's eye.

He was standing a short distance away, hands in his trouser pockets, regarding her with a steady expression that held an undercurrent of amused understanding. It was a look she'd seen reflected in his eyes before when she was being particularly... inept. He was amused, yes, and not bothering to hide it, but the gaze was also far from unkind; indeed, she took comfort in the fact that he seemed, in some strange way, to relish her gawkiness.

Taking his hands from his pockets, Remus moved forward and put a finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. Just before he kissed her, he murmured with that unerring instinct he had for indirect reassurance, "I think... I'm going to enjoy this."

He drew her close, and his kiss was tender and full of promise as he slid his fingers up her spine to cup the back of her neck. It was lovely, this soothing sense of being cradled in the palm of someone's hand, and she thought again how much she loved that Remus wasn't put off by her awkwardness and inexperience, in the bedroom or anywhere else, how he gave every indication, just as he'd said, of enjoying it.

As he was certainly enjoying it at the moment.

His mouth moved over hers with warmth and firmness, teasing her with his tongue and gently biting at her lips until she felt herself sinking into him. Without breaking their kiss, Remus flicked his wand to cast a Silencing Charm and then wrapped his arm back around her waist to pull her more tightly against him. She could feel his arousal as his hands skimmed up over the curve of her bottom, her hips, her back. They left a trail of tingling heat in their wake before coming to rest tangled in her hair.

His lips and tongue slowly took over her universe, sparking off one delightful sensation after another. To a counterpoint of soft groans, kisses, and whispered names, they pulled off shirts, unfastened belts, caressed through fabric and under it. Finally they were down to essentials: two bodies and bare skin, wrapped in each other, striving to maximise every point of contact, arching into the deeply pleasing friction offered by legs and hips.

Tonks began to feel lightheaded from this dizzying overload on her senses, shivering under his touch, drinking in his warm scent, and tasting the salt of his skin under her tongue. When plaster rubbed at her shoulder blades, she became aware that at some point Remus had backed her against a wall. How it had happened she wasn't quite sure, but she supported the relocation wholeheartedly, being more than a little uncoordinated in the state she was in.

She twined her arms around his neck more securely and whispered, "Keep me steady."

She could feel him smile into her hair as he replied, "Always, love."

He didn't mean either of those words literally, she knew that, but it made her heart beat faster to hear them just the same. She murmured his name back into his ear, just to feel it pass her lips, and then she could only moan her approval as the hard planes of his body pressed against her, skin touching skin in a long hot line. The enticing movement of his hips gradually robbed her of the ability to stand unaided, and every nerve of her body began to thrum with desire.

And it was at this moment exactly that the sun broke from behind a cloud. Its light streamed into the room through the tall dormer window, painting oblongs of brightness upon their bit of wall. As her hand came up to shade her eyes, Remus stepped back, intending to draw the drapes, perhaps, or lead her to bed. She didn't know.

But instead he stopped, looked at her, his eyes bright and intent. And quite abruptly, Tonks felt something... shift. Not in a physical sense, because for a wonder it wasn't her equilibrium betraying her this time; it was as if the balance of that was happening between them had tilted on some invisible axis, its fulcrum nudged by this sudden radiance.

A wondering half-smile flitted across Remus's face as he took in her now-luminous expanse, his smile growing to one of quite uncomplicated delight. His gaze made its way upwards until he was looking into her eyes with a mischievous glint that invited her to share in the strangeness of this sun-bright moment.

When she peeled herself away from the plaster to close the gap between them, his reaction was immediate and unexpected. Gently, he pushed her back into position and murmured a hoarse, "Stay," and then, "Please." He held her there, pinned at his arm's length, framed within the yellow squares of sunlight as his eyes ranged again over her body.

Tonks felt... on display, a painting mounted and affixed to the wall. Was that what he was seeing now? A still life? A landscape? A trembling Venus rising from the foam?

Whatever he was envisioning, whatever he was thinking, there was no doubt whatsoever that the play of light across her skin had him entirely captivated, because he stood before her quite as much on display as she was—as men must always be, the proof of their interest being so very evident. She'd heard it said that men were visual creatures when it came to sex, and now Remus was offering the tangible proof of it. He was utterly focused on her, and it was both arousing and disquieting to be the target of this rapt concentration, quite unlike anything she had ever experienced.

Exposed to him in this solar spotlight and keenly aware of each physical imperfection it revealed, she felt surprisingly shy. But Remus had become an intrepid explorer, intent on discovering the uncharted corners of her sunlit landscape, and he wasn't to be off with a bashful twist of her hips or a covering hand. With an absent "Shh," as one might calm a child, he patted her palms to the wall so she could no longer hide behind them and then ran wide-spread fingers up her body as if smoothing out a map. She watched him study the plan of her, plotting a route that would leave no landmark unvisited.

He drew close, and she felt his sweet breath and the need in his body, his heavy erection lying hot against her belly. Her head tilted back against the wall and her eyes fluttered as he touched her again, as she gave herself up to him. Long fingers traced the fine down along the slope of her thighs, each hair lit by the sun like an infinitesimal flare; lips blazed a trail across the ridge of her collarbone, into the hollow at the base of her throat, and then up the sharp-peaked promontories of her breasts; tongue descended into the valley between them, following a rivulet of sweat on its trickling course.

Remus continued his reconnaissance with agonising deliberation. She heard her own hitching breath, and her pulse thudded in her ears like a drumbeat in a tropical jungle. It was hot. So hot. The sun was heating her, and he was heating her with mouth and hands, and if something wasn't done soon she was going to melt down, dissolve into the wall or into him. She wondered if he'd make her beg, even though it was still weeks until the full moon, because at this point she was more than ready to do it: To cajole, to beseech him. If she could only muster the strength of will, she'd pull him onto the bed right now, draw him on top of her, wrap her legs around him. Plead with him to pound her into the mattress.

But Remus had other ideas, it seemed. He had her trapped between the wall and his own solid heat, covering her, eclipsing the sun. They were kissing again, touching, licking, biting, grinding into each other, spiralling inward tighter and tighter, wound round each other so thoroughly they might never come apart. He was so intense, so consumed with what they were doing, with what he was doing to her, that she thought the house could fall down around them and he wouldn't notice. Wouldn't stop.

Her breath was coming in quick pants. She'd lost all track of the seconds or minutes or hours—they'd been left behind somewhere, dropped like the garments that littered the floor—and then he was lifting her from the wall and backing her towards the armchair. He turned away for a moment and shifted the chair with an impatient jerk a few feet to the right, rucking up the carpet as he pivoted it towards the sunlight. She admired the flex of muscles in his arms and back and his decidedly male profile outlined against the window.

Remus lowered her onto the badly sprung seat, and then he... paused. He glanced unhurriedly towards the window and back again at her, seeming to consider what he might want to do next while Tonks raked her eyes over him hungrily and—it must be confessed—impatiently: What on earth had he to think about at a time like this? It wasn't a time for thinking, it was a time for—

Oh.

Remus had apparently followed both her thoughts and her gaze, because he reached down and grasped his cock, raising a sly eyebrow at her as if to ask, Is this what you want? He ran one hand very deliberately along its length, grinning at her sharply indrawn breath which plainly replied, Yes, it certainly is.

It came to her, through a haze of desire, that in this room their roles were in some way reversed: It was he who was the playful one, the transparent one who hid nothing of himself, who nudged her away from her comfort zone. It was he who gave more than he took. Why had this never occurred to her before? She had always thought of herself as the one pushing at the boundaries of their relationship, and as the one who was open and giving.

And then Remus was bending over her, lifting each of her legs carefully over an arm of the chair, posing her, so that her glistening sex was revealed to the bright room. To him. She would have been embarrassed by the wantonness of the position if she hadn't already been too far gone in erotic anticipation to leave room for self-consciousness.

He stepped back, out of the way of a shaft of sunlight, and it cut through the dust motes like an arrow, striking her between the legs. She realised that this was the effect that Remus had had in mind all along, why he'd placed the chair as he had. He was staring down at her cunt looking rather flatteringly gobsmacked, and with the small part of her brain that was still working she imagined him stroking himself as he watched the sunbeam thrust into her, pierce her, impale her, as she was fucked by light, fucked by the sun, fucked by the phallus of Apollo himself.

Tonks didn't know what it said about him that he'd done this, that he enjoyed seeing her in this vulnerable position. Or what it said about her that she submitted to his... fancies. But she did submit, more than willingly. Mutely, she reached out to her lover with both hands, and Remus was there, grasping them securely, sinking to his knees in front of her, banishing the interloper and taking his rightful place between her legs.

Leaning in, he took her face in both hands and kissed her thoroughly, as though he meant it with his whole being. It was one kiss among hundreds they had shared, but somehow it brought home to her, as never before, his abiding tenderness and generosity towards her. And with that realisation came another: That in the months they'd been together, although she'd grown to care for him very deeply, she'd always held something of herself back, waiting. Waiting for Remus to open up to her, to reveal whatever it was he'd obscured behind his many layers. To show his true feelings.

But now...

Now something fundamental was changing, in herself if not in him. The thought brought with it a surge of emotion so strong that she trembled, and as she did so, Remus pulled away just far enough to whisper, "All right?" She looked into his kind eyes and nodded. Smiled, if somewhat tremulously. With a quick peck on her nose and then her chin, his lips brushed a light path down her body until he reached her widespread legs.

At first Remus wanted only to tease, and the time had long since passed when that might have come as a surprise to her. Still kneeling before her exposed sex, he grazed his teeth along her inner thighs, blew on her moist, heated flesh, circled his tongue around her clit until her breathing, when she remembered to breath at all, grew ragged. Catching his hair in an urgent grip, she felt herself tense as he buried his face between her legs with a low groan. His tongue delved into her slick cleft, lapping and sucking at her clit until she was arching against his mouth while brilliant sparks crackled across her body.

When a tremor ran through her and her thighs began to tighten, he backed off, went back to teasing her, drawing out her pleasure—if such exquisite torture could be called pleasure—before returning with more perfect swipes of his tongue across her clit. He continued his attentions until she was far past speech, almost past thought. Tonks could hear her breath coming in little whimpers that might have made her self-conscious in other circumstances; shocks of sensation radiated outward from her centre until she thought she might scream. But then his tongue moved away once more, and this time Remus kissed his wet mouth up her stomach, ribs, breasts, moving higher despite her rather incoherent noises of protest.

By the time Remus reached her neck, nibbling along the rigid cord that stretched below her ear, Tonks was practically crying with frustrated desire. She grabbed his shoulders, pushing downward in silent appeal for more of his tongue or his cock or his something. But he took her hands and gently moved them down her own body, brushing them past her taut nipples to end between her legs, leaving her fingers an inch from where she wanted him to be.

He edged away, ever so slightly, so that he wasn't touching her at all, though the heat of his body still warmed her. She looked at him first in confusion and then in comprehension, because he wanted—

He wanted...

Did he truly want to see her—?

His breath was tickling her ear so that she felt more than heard Remus breathe, "Touch yourself, Dora."

He did.

Oh, Merlin, if she hadn't been in so far, hadn't been so lost in her own arousal, she couldn't have... wouldn't have been able to. At least... yes, she'd done this to herself before during sex... sometimes, to— just to help things along, but never in such an unabashed way. Never as a-a performance for her lover as much as a benefit to herself.

Closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath, Tonks ran her fingers along her sex, slipping and circling around her sensitive bud, knowing his eyes were on her. She was so wet. He'd left her so close; had done it, she saw now, purposely. Always one step ahead of her, somehow. She bit her lip, working her hand faster while from some unfathomable distance Remus's voice filtered into her ear, low and rough, seeming almost to graze the place where his tongue had been moments before.

There in the broad daylight she pleasured herself for him, bringing herself off to the accompaniment of his throaty encouragements, to promises of what he'd to do to her, places he'd touch her with lips, teeth, tongue, fingers, hand, cock, and ohfuckhiswand. The words were suggestive and tantalising and wicked, conjuring erotic images that burst through in her mind until she tightened and cried out, shattering quickly, so quickly, beneath her own fingers.

As she shook from the overwhelming magnitude of this physical and emotional surrender, Remus folded her in his arms, enclosed her, stroked the damp hair at her temples. He murmured over and again that she was beautiful, oh god so beautiful, she was beautiful when she came.

As her heartbeat and breathing slowed, Tonks found herself caught up again in a bewildering cascade of feelings. They came tumbling over her as if a dam had broken somewhere, but under this onslaught, one thing stood out as clear and bright to her as sunlight: that this man holding her, this man who made love to her, he was the one behind those layers that she had distrusted so much. At this time, in this room, Remus knew how to be as open as the air; here, he was willing to reveal himself to her with as much clarity as ever she could desire.

She sensed him shift up onto the chair and between her legs, and then strong hands were lifting her hips. She slid her fingers along his shoulders, felt the muscles there tensing as his hard cock pushed into her, inching towards the connection that she'd been aching for since they were in the library today. Today. She almost laughed, because of course she'd been aching for this kind of connection, a connection without barriers, for a lot longer than that.

She lifted herself to him as best she could, arching, encouraging him to push past this barricade of distrust she had erected against him and take... what? Her emotional virginity? When at last he was submerged in her, filling her, she felt inexplicably both terrified and blissfully complete. She tightened her eyelids against a traitorous prickle of tears and pulled her arms around his neck.

He remained still, buried in her, and after a moment Tonks realised that he must be waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, it was to find Remus's amber gaze looking straight into her. He leaned forward to touch her lips with his own and then gave her a smile of such piercing sweetness that she had to swallow against the painful lump that rose up in her throat.

And then he began to move within her, the steady pace of his strokes smooth and sure. She watched his eyes fall shut and thought, as she often did, how good he was at this, so good... And those things he'd been whispering to her. Before. God. Ideas so wild that she wondered if he could possibly have tried a quarter of them. Because she certainly hadn't.

And she wondered...

And it so much wasn't the time to ask, even she realised... But she couldn't help it. For reasons that were obscure to her she needed to—

"Remus."

He heard her. Must have done, but he didn't stop. He probably thought she'd said his name as a sort of... background music, the way one does when making love. But she wanted to know, had to know, so she said again—

"Remus?"

He opened slightly glazed eyes, and the rocking of his hips slowed and then stopped. There was the faintest tremor in his arms as he struggled for control. He took a deep breath and leaned forward until his nose almost touched hers.

"Yes, Dora?" he said, the words coming out on a long exhalation. She could feel the question tickle past her cheek.

"I want..." she shook her head in embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Don't be. It's... alright. Anything, love." His eyes glimmered with desire and with something like wry curiosity as if wondering what she could possibly want at this moment that she wasn't already getting. An eyebrow quirked up in silent enquiry.

"How... how many girls, um, women, have you...?" She trailed off. Couldn't quite meet his gaze. Couldn't believe she was asking this, right now.

Apparently, neither could Remus.

He gave a sort of laughing groan, and his cock twitched inside her as he said huskily, "Can we... postpone this conversation for about, oh... thirty seconds?"

And Tonks giggled along with him, but said, "A number, Remus, that's all I want."

He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers as he hesitated, and she leaned automatically into his touch. His answer, when it came, was halting but didn't sound evasive. And Merlin knew she'd had lots of practise recognising his evasions. "I'm... not sure."

"Oh," she said doubtfully. For someone easily able to number her lovers on one hand, even including present company, it was hard to imagine that one could lose count.

Remus chuckled, seeming to sense her thoughts. "Not that many," he assured her, with another feather-light touch to her cheek. "But I never thought to keep a running tally. Didn't realise I'd be asked for references," he added teasingly. She blushed as he went on, "And... I've never been one for long relationships."

"Oh," she repeated.

He waited a moment. When she didn't speak he grasped her hips again and pulled her tightly against him so that she could feel the entire length of his erection pressing into her, driving her breath away in a little gasp. But she put her hands on his wrists to still him. "How long was the longest? Relationship, I mean."

Remus growled in mock frustration, or perhaps it was real. He knocked his forehead lightly against hers and kept it there. "That would be two months and..." he closed his eyes and screwed up his face as if in calculation. Suddenly, she knew exactly what he was going to say and thought that even this pause was probably a sham.

She waited breathlessly.

"... and twenty-three days," he said finally, opening his eyes again and looking directly into hers. Their relationship, then. His longest one. He raised his eyebrows at her. "And now... with your kind permission?"

She felt a thrill, an absurd happiness that Remus had given her this, this admission. It felt as significant as another man's declaration of undying love, and she burrowed her face into his neck for a moment to hide the wide grin that came with it. Sliding her hands from his hips, she ran them up the lean muscles of his abdomen to his chest, laying her fingers against the thump of his heart. Remus, taking this for the permission it was meant to be, gave a single sharp thrust that drew a small cry from her, driving any more questions out of her thoughts, as it was presumably intended to do.

"All right?" he asked for the second time that day, this time in a voice made rough by need.

"All right," she agreed, with a whispery almost-laugh.

Her eyes stayed locked with his dark gaze as he began to move inside her again. He lifted her hips slightly in time to his strokes so that she felt as if she were balanced on a pendulum, swinging between yearning as he pulled away and fulfilment as he plunged back into her. She gave herself up to him, aware that she had no more walls, no more defences left for him to batter down. His exhalations fell hot upon her lips, and she breathed deeply, bringing him into her, letting his goodness fill her, as her body matched his rhythm.

God, he was sexy. Not in the way he was near the full moon, when she always had the sense—possibly only a fantasy, really—of something dark and untamed, only barely suppressed beneath the surface. This was another Remus, gentler, yet still so exciting, making love to her with exquisite endurance, rocking into her with a cadence that her body couldn't help responding to. She became half lost in it, in the deep and satisfying tension of two bodies striving instinctively to become one; sensation fluttering low in her belly, building until it became a coiling need.

She was looking at him through dazed, heavy lidded eyes, at her lover of two months and twenty-three days, at his tousled hair gilded by the sun, at his expression of intense concentration as he brought them ever closer to a brilliant explosion. And as if from nowhere, it came. Not an orgasm. But a word. A sunburst of enlightenment as sharp and blinding as any physical climax could have been.

Love.

The word filled her mind like smoke billowing from a wildfire. She loved him. it wasn't affection, or fondness, or attraction, or fancy, or any of the dozen words she had used to herself in the past. She loved Remus, even if he showed who he truly was only at moments like this. With each thrust she fell more deeply, more confusedly, into love. Confusing because... how was she to reconcile the urges she was feeling now with love? She had always thought would be... purer, somehow. Not all mixed in with a jumble of other feelings: empathy and curiosity and lust and insecurity and so many more.

His movements were escalating, growing more and more purposeful: hard, primal thrusts that drove away all thought save incoherent desire. His eyes had closed again, and his face was strained and contorted with the approach of that delight which so resembled agony. There was nothing elusive or mysterious about him, not now, not when he was in her like this, holding nothing back. He bucked against her, buried his cock inside her again and again, knocking away her breath with each thrust, until they were both gasping, gripping each other with desperate fingers. It was becoming too much too bear, but not enough yet, not nearly enough.

Tonks was burning as hot as the sun, glowing, incandescent, when at last she clenched around him, tipping over the edge into blistering euphoria and pulling him down with her when she fell. Remus groaned out her name as he stiffened in powerful spasms, emptying himself deeply inside her. He buried his face in her hair as his breath came out in great heaving gusts, and his heart pounded wildly against her. She imagined the smoky tendrils of her love twining around them both as their bodies' frantic shudderings gradually slowed and then ceased.

Afterwards, as she was still floating like a wisp of cloud in the blue sky, Remus started to pull away from her. She tumbled back down to earth and clutched him. Because she wanted... well, what she wanted was to tell him that she was his forever, that she had fallen for him completely, but that would be the ultimate in stupid mistakes, wouldn't it? Counterproductive, she knew that much. So instead she settled for pulling his face to hers with both hands and kissing him repeatedly, emphatically.

She murmured, finally, "I rather liked that."

"I— Yes, you gave that impression." A breathy chuckle.

"Suppose all those old girlfriends were good for something, then." She bit her lip, trying to establish their usual banter and push away the soppiness that was threatening to spill over. "If they taught you this."

"Well, if you want to give credit to someone—other than me, of course, or in the present instance," Remus raised her hand and kissed her fingertips, "you—then it should probably be Sirius."

"Oh? Are you about to tell me something a girl definitely doesn't want to hear at a moment like this?" She arched an eyebrow playfully.

"I hope not," he laughed. "He's only ever given me one bit of advice about women, which I can encapsulate in three simple words."

She assumed they weren't the same three words that were singing through her heart right now, so she was unsurprised when he bent his head to her ear and muttered, "Girls love foreplay."

She giggled. "He said that?"

He gently disengaged himself and stood up. Glancing around for his wand, he replied somewhat distractedly, "Actually, his words were coarser and, of course, far more plentiful. You know him. The term 'mind fuck' was, for example, freely bandied about—he was reading A Clockwork Orange at the time—but that was the gist of it."

"The gist, hm? Sanitised for a lady's ears?" Remus had located his wand and now cast a Cleaning Charm over her, which tingled nicely. She was reminded briefly of her last boyfriend, who invariably did himself first with whatever wand was handy, before tossing it onto the bed for her to use. In hindsight, that seemed... unchivalrous.

She stood up as well, and picked up a blue and yellow striped sock. "You're kind to spare my blushes, Remus, but I think that after the very imaginative suggestions you were making a few minutes ago, I could probably have withstood the unedited version. Still, he was certainly right."

They were both snickering as Remus said, "Go ahead and thank him sometime. He'd be pleased to know that he contributed, however indirectly, to showing you a good time."

Tonks smiled to herself as she recalled this last bit of their conversation. The lingering resentment she'd been feeling towards both men seemed to have dissipated entirely under the force of this happy memory. She pulled out her wand and deftly Transfigured both of her boots into lucky charms—a pewter clover and a rabbit's foot—and attached them to the key-chain in her robe pocket. She stood and pointed her wand to the bundle of reports, which she Transfigured into an address book and pocketed as well.

Before leaving the room, she walked to the mirror, made a silly face at herself, and then pushed, just so, until her hair turned short, pink, and spiky, just the way she liked it when she was feeling particularly chipper. Turning her head this way and that, she examined the effect and grinned. Now she was ready to go back downstairs and face the world with a generous heart.

As she entered the downstairs hall, she could hear them, or at least Sirius, from a long distance off. They seemed to be arguing, although at first it was only disjointed phrases from Sirius.

"Show you your place... arrogant... waiting until the last possible... waltz in and... fucking bastard..."

She slowed as she approached the library, loitering near the door for the second time that day as the disagreement escalated.

"... and if I have to hear one more time about how he's just a misunderstood soul who's never known love and—"

"—that's not what I'm saying and you—"

"—if the poor sod could only gain the acceptance of his peers in the Order everything would be—"

"—know it. You're twisting this because of your own problems, it's—"

"—wonderful. He's not the only one who had a 'difficult upbringing,' you know. It's no excuse for joining— Look at Reg, I never made—

"—nothing to do with him, it's you." Remus transferred his gaze from Sirius to Tonks as she peeked around the doorway. The tight anger that had been in his face fell away in an instant, replaced be a calm blankness, the kind of look that could hide anything.

"—excuses for him either. This is not some desperate cry for acceptance, it's his way of pushing you until—"

"Enough, Sirius." Remus said sharply, still looking at Tonks. For a wonder, Sirius shut off the tap in mid-flow.

Tonks slipped in through the door rather hesitantly. She'd never seen Remus look so angry. Come to think of it, she'd never actually seen him looking angry at all, although she was sure he felt it sometimes. Normally, if something upset him, he'd bury his nose in whatever book he happened to be holding, or do a bit of staccato tapping with his fingers, or possibly get up and walk away. She'd never noticed him actually glaring at someone before. It was disconcerting. Apparently, Sirius was capable of bringing out more emotions in Remus than she was. And that would be quite a stupid reason for jealousy, she told herself firmly.

Sirius was still standing practically nose to nose with Remus, and Tonks saw his fists convulsively clenching and unclenching. Remus, on the other hand, was perfectly still, his hands carefully relaxed at his side. He was continuing to regard Tonks with that strangely off-putting calmness, a faint crease between his eyebrows being the only giveaway that he was uneasy.

Noticing for the first time the direction of Remus's attention, Sirius whirled around.

"Tonks!" Sirius broke into a smile, his anger seeming to evaporate instantly. Without a backwards glance, he bounded over to her and fell to his knees, head bent to bare the back of his neck. Tonks's mouth fell open, as she looked from Sirius, all joking now, to Remus, who had turned away from them and walked around behind the settee, rubbing his own neck is if it felt stiff.

Sirius said contritely, "Remus has read me the riot act. I'm to beg your forgiveness and admit I'm not worthy to black your boots— er, trainers?" He paused and looked doubtfully from her face to her shoes. "Weren't you wearing boots a minute ago?"

Tonks grinned uncertainly down at the man grovelling at her feet, the very picture of abject penitence. With a quick glance again at Remus, whose back was still turned, she said, "Yeah. I broke 'em."

Sirius appeared to struggled to maintain his doleful expression. "I made you so angry you broke your boots?" he asked with something like hope in his voice.

"No, idiot." She couldn't help laughing a little at that. "I broke a heel this morning. What did you imagine, that I was throwing my boots against a wall or something, wishing it was your head?"

"Well... It has been known to happen."

"Somehow I'm not amazed to hear that."

"So. Do you forgive me, poor, worthless lump that I am?"

"I'm still thinking about it," replied Tonks, unwilling to let him off too easily. She'd begun to suspect that this performance might be as much for Remus's benefit as for her own. Men had strange ways of making up with each other. "This business with the steak, now. All true, I take it? Because I've never known you to do so much as boil an egg."

"Completely true." He called over his shoulder to Remus, "Back me up, here, mate."

Remus turned back to them. He took a breath and exhaled, as if he were symbolically extinguishing his brief flare of temper.

"He made it himself," Remus affirmed, sounding the tiniest bit ruffled still, but clearly making an effort. "And it was delicious. I assume you prepared it by your usual method, Padfoot?"

"Used Flammus, over the sink, which reminds me that I'd better clear up before Molly gets here."

"Too late," Tonks smirked.

"Ah, shit. I'm going to catch it later. Oh, well. And Remus's steak got the patented Black smouldering glance to get it all hot and bothered. Worked a treat, as usual. Surprised the thing didn't into crawl up into my lap and start snogging me senseless."

"Ah. The smouldering glance, was it?" The corner of Remus's mouth hitched up briefly, seemingly against his will. "I prefer to use a scorching glare, myself. More manly."

"I've more 'manly' in my little finger than you have in your entire—"

"Dream on."

"Moony, I've aired my opinion on this issue before. We need to nip in the bud your bizarre new ambition to infest my dreams. Scotch the idea immediately. No Lupins requested or desired. And allow me to reiterate my position that—while no doubt others hold markedly different views," here he gave Tonks a significant glance, "to me, the dream Moony is more of a nightmare."

Remus saluted him with an imaginary rapier to the forehead. "Touché." Remus grinned faintly, and this time it didn't look forced.

"No longer raging like a Red Cap, then?" asked Sirius, gazing beseechingly at Tonks from his prone position.

"Well..." said Tonks, "I'm still thinking about it."

"And what about him, while you're thinking?" Sirius asked plaintively, pointing an accusing finger behind him in the general direction of Remus.

"What about him?" she asked, puzzled.

"He laughed, too."

"Now wait just a minute. Innocent party, here. I didn't start it," Remus protested.

"Did so."

"I most certainly—"

"Punish him, Tonks! I demand that he share in my punishment! He deserves it. As, of course," he added virtuously, "do I."

Tonks bit her lip to hide a smile. "Oh, alright. If you insist, I'll punish him... later."

"Some people have all the the luck," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"You know," she observed, "The two of you can get a bit... wearing on long acquaintance."

"Exactly what McGonagall used to say as she was clapping me in irons and hauling me before the Inquisition. Which was generally directly after she'd patted St. Remus here on the head and sent him back to his prayers. History so often repeats itself, don't you find? But please, Tonks, this prostrating myself business..." Sirius shifted on his knees. "It's getting old. Not still upset?"

"No. Not even when I first came in, actually," admitted Tonks with a grin. "In fact, I even take back what I said about it being an image I didn't want in my head. It's a perfectly lovely image. So there."

"Oh. Well." Sirius blinked. "Er. Thanks... I think."

"My pleasure entirely."

"And stop rolling your eyes, Lupin," Sirius called, without turning around.

"My eyes are at this moment shut. In horror." Tonks watched Remus close them briefly as he spoke and then open them again, giving her the ghost of a wink and his first real smile since she came in. For just a moment he looked far more like a cheeky Third-year than a greying ex-Professor.

Sirius rolled his own eyes, apparently thinking someone ought to do it. "Does this mean we can kiss and make up?" he asked her with a hopeful pucker. "Because my kneecaps are killing me."

"We'll see about that. But you may arise, vassal."

"Thank you, milady." As Remus watched them with a rather indulgent expression, Sirius made a show of staggering to his feet. Grabbing both of Tonks's hands, Sirius lowered his head with a rather well-executed courtly bow to kiss them. Just as his lips grazed her knuckles, the library door swung fully open to admit a black-gowned Severus Snape.

He looked from Sirius's mouth, to Tonks, and then to Remus. His lip curled. "Am I... interrupting?"

(to be continued in chapter 9)

Author's note: Well... uh... bleurgh. I'm awfully glad this chapter is behind me LOL. It was a toughie. For fans of the dark and brooding Potions master, your fellow takes centre stage for a while next time. And Tonks and Remus get to spend time alone, and not even shagging either but actually... conversing! :)

Reviews are my sweet recompense for writing this story, so if you'll share a few words, I'd love to hear them!