Yours, Luna Lovegood

Rushed

It had been weeks since she'd began pursuing him, nearly two months since her risqué evening confrontation.

She'd approached the problem systematically, adjusting variables strategically, observing his expression and body language, noting those outfits, hair styles and lengths, and flirtatious movements that drew his attention particularly.

She couldn't accept his distance, not after so long. It had been years since they'd last spent this much time together, years since school. He'd captured her then, she'd known it all along. The dazzlingly rugged, impossibly humble prefect whose kind eyes and humble smile caught her attention as soon as she'd sat at the Gryffindor table.

He was a veteran of war, key in the capture of dozens of Voldemort's followers, by the time she'd come of age. Though she admitted it to no one, Tonks had pursued a role in the Auror's office in large part to work alongside him. He hadn't lost any of his charm, although he carried burdens she could hardly imagine. He was threadbare in appearance, kind but distant. She couldn't account for the pain in his eyes, every time they'd crossed paths.

He left the Auror's office not six months after she arrived, on the heels of a formally registered complaint regarding his condition (which had, she raged to the Director himself, never once influenced his meticulous attention and outstanding efforts). Since that day, she'd hardly seen him at all.

On the vaguest notion that he might attend this or that party, she'd dressed to the nines — heels and everything. When he did see her, he wore the same charming smile, and that same distant, pained expression.

She'd dated some, to no avail. She'd been pursued by so many, few for any reason other than her physiological talents. Those who seemed genuinely interested in her felt distinctly immature in his shadow. She'd harbored this crush for over a decade, and she wasn't about to let it go.

This summer had been the happiest of her life. The thrill of Remus' invitation, the space they shared, the sustained attention, the occasional flirtation, had stirred her to hope. If only he'd hurry up.

After making her interest explicit, she flirted incessantly. He was impossible to read, however, and it drove her mad. Just as she began to suspect that he didn't harbor feelings for her, she'd catch him watching her from across the room, or making stupid excuses to join her on an errand. He smiled when she was near, often for no apparent reason. And yet there was distance, and that same pained expression.

Just after dawn on a fine October morning, Remus Lupin was seated at the dining table, mug at his elbow, pretending to pay attention to the headlines of The Daily Prophet. Every few minutes he shifted his gaze away from the paper, glancing with weighted anticipation toward the foyer.

Just as the sun's warm light washed over the Ravenswood gardens, casting a verdant glow on the features of the room, Tonks descended the stairs at a drowsy pace, stretching wildly.

After a wide yawn, she blinked into awareness to find Remus Lupin reading comfortably.

"Good morning, Tonks."

She bit her lip, eyes narrowing with a flirtatious smile.

"Is it, Remus?" Her expression adopted a mischievous air. "I am, indeed, sincerely hoping it will be a most pleasant morning, but that is, I'm afraid, dependent on a number of variables entirely outside of my control."

She stood, watching him, with a playful smile. She was wearing a tight pair of ripped denim, a cropped tee that hung teasingly just beyond her chest, drawing his eyes fleetingly to her fit torso. Her hair was longer this morning, in a thick braid of dark brown that hung over her right shoulder. She wore no shoes, and her toes danced playfully on the tile as she teased him.