Chapter Text
The night was dark and heavy at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
Alastor Moody had called a meeting, and the members arrived one by one, exchanging brief nods of greeting.
Among them was Nymphadora Tonks, wearing her usual shoulder-length pink hair, bright and messy enough to stand out drastically on the gloomy kitchen they were gathering.
It was her first day on duty —or rather, her first official meeting with the Order of the Phoenix— and though she tried to remain composed, she couldn’t help feeling excited.
She glanced sideways at her mentor, Mad-Eye Moody, seated on her left.
They had spent the day together on an undercover surveillance operation, patrolling central London for cursed artifacts. They spent hours disguised, hidden by enchantments, bored to death, until they decided to call it a day.
Nothing had hinted at a change in plans.
But as they submitted their report and exited through one of the Ministry's back doors, he stopped her cold.
"Got any plans tonight?"
Tonks raised an eyebrow. The question was so unexpected she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or brace herself.
"You mean… dinner, theatre, and a moonlit stroll?"
But Moody didn’t smile.
"I’m serious, Tonks."
She looked at him closely. That strange gleam in his magical eye told her he wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
"No, I don’t have plans," she finally replied.
He nodded and said nothing else.
He led her silently through several blocks until they turned into a grimy alley that opened onto a small square.
It was the kind of place that could have been charming —with trees, benches, and a flowerbed waiting to be planted— but in truth, it was neglected, dirty, and filled with trash.
Moody pointed to a row of grey facades framing that dreary corner. Then he pulled a crumpled sheet of parchment from his coat pocket and handed it to Tonks.
"Read it. Memorise it. And burn it."
There was a single sentence:
"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimmauld Place."
Tonks read it a couple of times, letting it sink in. Then she whispered "Incendio" and, with a slight flick of her wand; the note went up in a brief, silent flame. The ashes scattered before reaching the ground.
She looked up at the buildings in front of her, waiting for... something.
And then she saw it.
A house emerged between two others. The magic was so dense it took her breath away.
"What is this?" she asked in a low voice.
"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Moody replied.
Tonks stared, dumbfounded by the revelation.
Her mentor didn’t wait for an answer; he crossed the square and began climbing the worn steps to the entrance. She hurried after him.
The door opened without being touched. The first thing she heard was a growl behind a tapestry. Her boots made a sharp creak on the wooden floor.
She followed him down a narrow corridor to the end, where a sliver of light spilled from a closed room.
And there she was, now seated.
In the Order of the Phoenix, the one she’d heard so much about.
That group of witches and wizards who, under Dumbledore’s leadership, had fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters in the First Wizarding War. And now they had reunited again.
She smiled briefly.
When she thought of "the Order of the Phoenix’s headquarters," her imagination had run wild: an underground bunker, a castle with secret passageways and dragons flying overhead... maybe even a cave in the northern mountains, with maps spread over grand tables and spells guarding every corner.
Okay, maybe she had gone a bit overboard.
What she hadn’t expected at all was an old, dusty mansion, full of memories seemingly forgotten for generations, hidden between two residential buildings in some random Muggle neighborhood in London.
Though she had only crossed the entrance hall and reached the kitchen, everything about the house suggested it had been closed up for far too long.
The walls didn’t seem to reflect light but to swallow it.
Layers of dust covered furniture, chandeliers, cornucopias, ornate moldings, and portraits trapped in blackened frames.
Between the ceiling beams, spiders had spun spectacular silver curtains worthy of a haunted house, and the air held that unmistakable scent of damp, dormant wood, and abandonment.
Tonks crossed her legs and let her gaze wander around the room.
They were seated on worn wooden chairs arranged around an equally scuffed table that occupied the center of the room.
Though the space was small, it overflowed with homely details that gave it a lived-in, almost familiar feel: a slightly dented teapot, a mismatched pile of cups, a tray with forgotten crumbs. At the far end, a crackling fire glowed in the hearth, casting warm light and flickering shadows over the faces of those present.
Tonks shifted slightly to the right and studied the couple beside her.
The reddish hair and warm smile of the man told her he must be Arthur Weasley. And the woman at his side, of course, had to be his wife.
She had heard of him at the Ministry more than once.
Everyone knew Arthur Weasley: a kind-hearted man, the sort always ready to lend a hand without expecting anything in return.
He was said to have a knack for finding solutions in the most unlikely moments, and Tonks had heard colleagues joke about his fascination with Muggle gadgets — something others found eccentric but which she found amusing.
Beyond his hobby for non-magical technology, Arthur was known for his unwavering loyalty and his genuine concern for others' well-being.
Tonks smiled to herself, comforted by the company.
What truly caught her attention, though, was the man seated across from the Weasleys, studying a stack of papers with intense focus.
Sirius Black.
Had no one told her, Tonks never would have associated that striking man —with his sharp features and penetrating gaze— with the fugitive who had once stared out from Wanted posters.
The image crafted by the Ministry and The Prophet —that of a ruthless killer, driven mad— bore no resemblance to the person before her.
During her early days as an Auror, Tonks had joined several patrols tasked with hunting him down after his escape from Azkaban. She vividly remembered her superiors' warnings, the stories whispered before each mission: dangerous, unpredictable, lethal.
That all changed a couple of days ago, when Kingsley had told her the truth.
Sirius wasn’t a murderer.
He hadn’t betrayed the Potters.
He had been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit and was now an active fighter against Voldemort.
Yes…
That was also the first time she heard about the Order.
Kingsley had likely already suspected that Moody would recruit her.
Sirius's eyes lifted suddenly and caught her watching him. Tonks quickly looked away, feeling caught; but before she had fully turned her head, she thought she saw a crooked smile tug at his lips — as if her quiet curiosity amused him rather than bothered him.
Too embarrassed to look back, she focused on the rest of the room instead.
Some members spoke in low voices, trading thoughts and ideas; others stared into the dancing flames, lost in thought.
Across the table, she recognised a few familiar faces.
Sturgis Podmore sat among them, with a calm expression and slightly hunched posture resting over the tabletop.
She knew he held a key role in the Department of Anti-Corruption, a subdivision within Magical Law Enforcement. They had never worked together, and the little she had heard about him came from scattered remarks about his integrity and meticulous style.
His quiet appearance suited the job. He looked like someone who preferred to blend into the background, yet whose opinion was respected and whose actions carried weight.
Beside him sat Emmeline Vance, a witch of elegant bearing and observant eyes.
For a moment their gazes met; Tonks straightened at once, instinctively wanting to meet the standard she saw in her.
They hadn’t been introduced, but Emmeline's reputation preceded her: it was said that where others saw chaos, she spotted opportunities. Something about her exuded absolute confidence and quiet authority.
She seemed like someone with solid judgment, capable of solving even the most complex issues. One of those women who never needed to shout or fight for attention — it was enough for her to speak, and people listen.
Tonks didn’t know her exact field, but she was clearly influential in magical politics and high society.
A little farther down, Dedalus Diggle raised a friendly hand, which Tonks returned. She had already noticed him earlier, since his vibrantly coloured hat stood out against the grim surroundings almost as much as her own pink hair.
He had always struck her as a peculiar figure, with his robes that never matched, a beard that looked alive, and an energy that seemed inexhaustible. Sometimes he reminded her of a circus wanderer; other times, an eccentric drifter who’d seen too much of the world but somehow kept his joy intact.
Beside her, Moody cleared his throat, breaking into her thoughts.
The old Auror was scanning a bundle of parchment for what must have been the tenth time, filled with lists and maps, his magical eye spinning in all directions while his focus remained rock steady, undisturbed by the hum of voices around him.
Tonks felt the urge to laugh but suppressed it immediately. She straightened up and looked away, trying not to seem unprofessional.
Her gaze drifted toward a man seated in a corner, half-shrouded in shadow.
He radiated a quiet sort of authority — not the kind that demanded attention, but the kind that simply made itself known.
He didn’t seem eager to stand out. He nodded politely when addressed but made no move to insert himself into the conversations now rippling through the room.
Not aloof exactly, but not quite present either. There was something holding him back, restrained — as if he existed somewhere between companionship and solitude.
Tonks narrowed her eyes slightly.
He was the only person in the room she didn’t recognise.
A Ministry employee, maybe?
His appearance was modest, with nothing suggesting a life of bureaucrat — but he didn’t look like an outlaw either.
Who was he?
And how did he fit in the Order?
The door swung open and Tonks quickly looked away from the mysterious man, just as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped into the kitchen, his presence filling the room with quiet authority.
He greeted everyone with his usual composure and gave her a quick wink, which she returned.
Kingsley was Alastor Moody’s right hand — and to Tonks, the best partner she could ever ask for in the chain of command.
As soon as he sat down, Moody finally broke the silence.
“Rookwood,” he growled, tapping the table with a gnarled finger.
Kingsley picked up immediately, calm and assured.
“Rookwood is our target. He works at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a bundle of parchment and began handing it around the table.
“Here’s the basic information: records, recent activity, possible connections.”
A low murmur passed through the group as they started reading.
Sturgis, holding up Rookwood’s photograph with a grim look, was the first to speak.
“He says it was a mistake, that he regrets ever being a Death Eater,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced. “But I don’t trust him. I never have.”
“Do we know if he’s still in contact with them?” Emmeline asked, her voice low and measured, eyes fixed on Moody.
“We suspect it,” Moody answered, his magical eye twitching restlessly.
Sturgis gave a slow nod.
“There are irregularities in the files he handles in the Department of Mysteries. Unlogged access crossings, unexplained movements, and—” he flipped a page, frowning, “—unusual bank transfers. Nothing solid. But definitely suspicious.”
“Given all that, is there any chance we can question him?” Dedalus ventured.
Kingsley shook his head.
“He’s high up in the Department of Mysteries... and very well protected.”
“Fudge thinks he’s reformed. Ha!” Mad-Eye scoffed with disdain. “We won’t catch him easily, but we’re going to track him. I want every step he takes watched. Carefully. He’s sharp — if he senses anything off, he’ll vanish into the Ministry’s shadows before we can even blink.”
Tonks studied Rookwood’s picture closely, trying to recall what little she knew about him.
Suddenly Moody cleared his throat again, as if remembering something, and turned his stone-faced expression to the group.
“Oh, and by the way…” He jerked his chin toward the Auror at his side, clearly not one for fanfare. “This is Tonks.”
There was a short pause as she straightened up, caught off guard by the abrupt introduction.
“She’s on my team. She’s reliable. That’s all. Let’s move on.”
Tonks blinked, slightly embarrassed by the lack of ceremony, but managed a bright smile as her eyes swept across the room.
Arthur Weasley gave her a kind nod; his wife offered a warm look. Kingsley met her gaze with a knowing smile that helped her relax.
“You and I are going to tail him,” Moody said, fixing his eye on her. “We’ll see what he does, where he goes, and who he talks to. No mistakes. We don’t let him spot us.”
Tonks gave a firm nod, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders.
She braced herself: following a man like Rookwood would take cleverness, patience — and above all, stealth.
This was her first major mission with the Order.
And she had no intention of messing it up.
When Mad-Eye brought the meeting to a close, he limped over to Sirius to discuss the surveillance shifts on Rookwood.
Tonks took the chance to approach Kingsley and Arthur, who greeted her with wide smiles and firm handshakes.
“Welcome to the Order,” said Kingsley, his deep voice and calm smile just as she remembered.
“This is my wife, Molly,” Arthur added, stepping aside as the red-haired woman approached with a kind expression.
Lovely to meet you, dear,” Molly said, offering her hand with genuine warmth.
“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to be here,” Tonks replied with bright enthusiasm.
Molly gave her a quick but gentle once-over. Her broad, sincere smile held something comforting — as if she instinctively knew what the young Auror needed to feel at home.
Soon after, Sturgis Podmore, Emmeline Vance, and Dedalus Diggle joined them, each offering a few friendly words — enough for Tonks to sense the atmosphere: quiet commitment, mutual respect, and the silent closeness that exists only among those who fight for a shared cause, even from the shadows.
As she chatted, a movement caught her eye to the left.
The man who had remained mostly in the background during the meeting was now approaching with calm, steady steps.
His face was thin, marked by old scars and shadowed by the kind of under-eye circles that spoke of sleepless nights. His hair was light brown, streaked with silver at the temples — early grey.
He wore a washed-out jumper, dark trousers, and scuffed brown leather shoes. Well-worn, but still holding together.
Though he looked neat, his patched, threadbare clothes said a lot: humble, quiet, and far from concerned with appearances.
His pale amber eyes met hers. Warm, yes — but not entirely present. As if he were watching from a distant shore, keeping a careful space between himself and the rest of the world.
“Remus Lupin,” he said softly, holding out his hand.
“Tonks. Just Tonks,” she replied with a grin, trying to ease the weight that seemed to surround him.
Remus gave a faint nod.
Tonks opened her mouth to say more, but as she leaned on the table, her elbow hit a bottle of liquor.
The brown liquid spilled fast across the napkins, pooling dangerously close to the nearby parchments.
“Oh, Merlin!” she gasped, trying uselessly to stop the flood with her hands.
Before things got worse, Molly stepped in swiftly.
She scooped up the soaked napkins with a patient smile, then, with a graceful flick of her wand, dried the table and reset everything in a blink.
“Don’t worry, dear. This table’s always buried in clutter. These things happen,” she said with a reassuring wink.
Tonks exhaled in relief, though her cheeks were burning.
When she turned back to Lupin to continue the conversation, she found he was gone.
She spotted him across the room, already hunched over a stack of documents next to Kingsley, utterly absorbed — as if she’d never been there at all.
She pressed her lips together, a flicker of annoyance creeping in. She hadn’t expected a lively exchange, but the cold dismissal still stung.
“Well then, looks like Mr. Too-Important has no time for the new girl,” she thought, mildly irritated.
So she focused instead on the conversation with Molly, Arthur, and Dedalus, who was more than happy to share his unique take on things, even if it had little to do with the actual topic.
“Oh, Sirius,” Molly said suddenly, looking over Tonks’s shoulder.
Hearing the name, Tonks turned just in time to see him walking toward them — confident, relaxed, with a crooked grin.
“Sirius Black,” he said, his tone mock-formal despite the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome to the club.”
Tonks shook his hand with spirit, drawn in by his easy charm.
“Thanks. Though I get the feeling I’m still missing my membership card.”
“Oh, we don’t print those,” he replied. “You carry it in your blood.”
He didn’t look away from her, and she held his gaze as he turned to speak with Molly.
She watched his easy stance, the way his eyes sparkled, the sound of his laughter.
And she realised how quickly the image built by newspapers and Ministry reports had fallen apart.
This wasn’t the ruthless killer from the Wanted posters, nor the terrifying figure from official briefings.
He was something else.
Something more real. More human.
And definitely far more interesting.
Tonks turned her attention away from Sirius and looked around the room.
The dark kitchen.
The table littered with parchment, used cups, and crumpled maps.
The quiet murmur of voices, the fire crackling in the hearth, the faces around her — worn by time and fear, yes. But also lit by something else.
Hope.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled with quiet resolve.
She was part of this now.
The legendary Order of the Phoenix had made space for Nymphadora Tonks.
And she had every intention of making her mark.
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