Ink: An Epistolary Romance

In a way, Muggle pubs are their very own kind of haystack. They tend to seem like a good idea when you first think about going there, because who doesn't like to escape from the real world once in a while? But on the other hand, with every drink it becomes ever so slightly harder to keep your innate magical impulses under control.

This problem becomes exponentially larger if you happen to be a Metamorphmagus; whereas most witches and wizards learn at a young age to control their impulses enough not to perform unintentional magic, those magical abilities particular to Metamorphmagi are, by their very nature, far less easy to manage. This is why April took a moment to whisper, "Control yourself!" into Tonks' ear before the blond guy reached them. Tonks took a quick inventory of her physical self, and concentrated very hard on not letting anything change.

"Hey," said the blond guy as he took the empty stool next to them. He gave April a smile, which widened into a full-fledged grin when he turned his gaze to Tonks. She took a deep, steadying breath and grinned back.

Tonks knew this ritual. She hadn't been set up very often, but it had only taken her a handful of times to get a feeling for how it traditionally went. There were the few minutes of small talk where April tried to draw attention to Tonks' more appealing features and characteristics. There was April's lame excuse to leave the two of them alone together. There was the inevitable awkward silence that followed, replete with shifting and a certain lack of eye contact. And then there was Tonks (it was always Tonks, because she was never patient enough to wait for the gentleman in question to do it), breaking the silence by offering to let him buy her a drink.

"Oh, yes!" said the blond guy. "Can I... I mean, what are you having?" Tonks smiled, taking note of the fact that he was far more attractive when he was nervously smiling and stumbling over his words, than when he was nervously studying the pattern of the wood on the bar.

"Just a gil - just a water," Tonks corrected herself. "I need to clear my head a bit."

He smiled and dutifully ordered a water for her, and then another for himself, which Tonks thought was oddly sweet. They stared at one another for a moment longer. "So," he said.

"So," she said.

"Your friend seemed rather keen on leaving us alone together," he said. Tonks smiled. Men often had a gift for stating the obvious.

"That she did," was all she said. "She isn't very good at subtlety."

The waters arrived, and she took a long sip. So did he. "I do think you're cute though," he said. "I like your hair. Do you dye it yourself?"

It took Tonks only a second to realize three things. First, if she hadn't already been sure that he was a Muggle, the word "dye" would have clinched it. Second, she had chosen a deep shade of purple on this particular day, and she reminded herself for the second time to remember that and keep it that way. Third, she wouldn't have had to worry about changing it if Remus were there. He liked it when she changed colors. He'd said so.

Mentally slapping herself, she focused her attention back on the person in front of her. She was supposed to forget about Remus for tonight.

"Yeah," she said with a smile that she dearly hoped came across as flirtatious. "I do it all myself. What's your name, anyway?"

"Ian," he said, and leaned closer. "Yours?"

"Tonks," she replied. "That's my last name. And if you can guess my first name... you win."

"I win what?" said Ian, looking slightly startled.

"Anything you want," she replied in a low tone.

Ian's face broke into a grin, and Tonks took a moment to silently congratulate herself on her flirting abilities. She knew that those last three words wouldn't land her in too much trouble, because Ian seemed merely overeager at best - hardly predatory. She knew his type, and he wouldn't ask outright for anything that they couldn't do right in the pub, even if he wanted it.

Which was strangely disappointing, in a way. The word Predatory made her think of pouncing, which made her think of Remus. She might like to be pounced on. Or even better, she might like for him to try to pounce on her, just so she could assert herself and tell him that she was lady and how dare he try such a thing?

But he wasn't nearly that exciting. She watched him as he thought for a moment, and the best word that she could think of for him was Nice.

"Barbara," he said.

Tonks blinked. "What?"

He laughed. "I'll take that as a no."

"I look like a Barbara?"

"I do not judge books by their covers," said Ian with a grin. Slightly mollified by his diplomatic choice of excuses, she allowed herself a chuckle.

"All right," he said. "Amanda." She shook her head. "Beth. No? Lorraine. Amy. Emma. Danielle. Oh, I don't bloody know."

Having by now decided that she enjoyed this game, Tonks leaned a bit closer and said, "All wrong. You're just going to keep being wrong if you guess names like that."

His face fell. He looked worried. In fact, he looked a bit like Remus looked when Remus was worried. It was something about his eyebrows. Tonks suppressed the sudden urge to hug him.

"How about a hint?" she suggested. "Here: it's not a name you'd find in your mum's baby name book."

He smiled again, and so did she. "Gwyneth."

She blinked. "That's a name?"

"Sure - like Gwyneth Paltrow." When she didn't reply, he prompted, "She's been in a few movies...? Never mind. Here, I've got it," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"What?"

"Aphrodite."

She couldn't help laughing; she'd gone to school with a girl named Aphrodite and hadn't been all that fond of her. Nevertheless, she did appreciate the intended meaning behind the comment. So she said, "Close enough."

"Really?" said Ian, looking hopeful.

"No," she giggled.

He looked perplexed. And there it was again: that little crease between his eyebrows. The same one that Remus got...

Her mind said: Oh dear.

Her mouth said: "But you win anyway."

*

The kissing hadn't been bad, she reflected as she collapsed on her bed at Grimmauld Place. It had been far too late to go all the way back to her own flat by any Muggle means; there were no nearby Floo stations that would still be open; and Apparating under the influence was not something she felt particularly keen on trying.

No, the kissing hadn't been bad at all. He'd been gentle about it, he'd had rather nice lips, and he hadn't drooled. And when he'd put his hand up her shirt in the far corner by the loo, he hadn't squeezed too hard.

But the fact remained that she'd wanted it to be special when a guy touched her for the first time. She'd wanted to feel fireworks inside, or at very least a bit of euphoria.

Instead, she now felt mildly sick.

There had been no note for her when she came back, even though Remus had returned again. He returned every night, of course, because he didn't have a flat of his own. But she suspected that he didn't sleep much, because even though Tonks was at Grimmauld Place an awful lot, she rarely saw him there.

She wondered if he'd be there in the morning when she woke up. And decided that he probably wouldn't.

The feeling of sickness gradually turned into a feeling of agitation. She tried to blame it on the alcohol, but her head had cleared quite a while ago, and it didn't feel like a hangover. No, she knew exactly what it was. She just didn't know the name for it.

What she did know, though, was that she should not have let April talk her into letting Ian kiss her. Of course, it had been Tonks herself who'd given him a little peck on the lips for saying Aphrodite... but it had only been with some urging from April that they'd wandered away from the crowd and turned the pecks into real kisses. With hands under shirts and things like that.

She dearly wished there had been a note.

Gingerly rising from the bed, she went out into the dark corridor and padded silently toward the door to Remus' room. Upon peering under his door and finding no light emanating from within, she gave up on her small hope that he'd still be awake, and returned to her own room.

Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness, and Tonks could not bring herself anywhere near sleep. Visions of Ian, and Ian's lips, and Ian's hands, kept stealing into her brain, only to be repeatedly cast out and replaced by visions of Remus and his lips and his hands, doing the things that Ian had done.

That, she decided, was the way things should have gone. It should have been Remus. Why hadn't it been Remus?

"Lumos," she said quietly, and by the light of her wand she searched for a quill and parchment.

Remus, she wrote a bit shakily. I kissed someone tonight. He did some things I've never let anyone do before. Not a lot of things, but some things. It wasn't right. I didn't even know him.

She thought about writing more, but she wasn't nearly drunk enough to pour her heart out to him as she so desperately wanted to.

So she Charmed it as it was, and slipped it underneath his door. He would find it in the morning.