From the ranks of the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone
Thursday, July 12 • Evening
Nymphadora Tonks had argued with herself all day.
You know you're going to throw yourself into this and be in over your head before you know it. Why not go slow this time? Because it's Bill, and I know him and ... What if he's just being gentlemanly and "sure, I'm interested in you" because of the moon and now it's "oops, I seem to have spent all night shagging you, so the polite thing to do is go for a bite to eat"? ... How about you stop worrying and just have some fun? Because that's what got me in trouble last time. ... Yeah, but we're both older now, smarter, and we're not going to end up not-friends over this.
All in all, dwelling over Bill, what had happened and what might happen if things went well tonight was definitely more interesting than spending all day worrying about the inquiry, which had gone surprisingly OK if "saying exactly what you thought and maybe torpedoing your career again, but pfft, this time you didn't do anything at all wrong, so suck it, Scrimmy" was going OK.
So Tonks was chuffed by the time she got home to get ready, her customary optimism in place. Heck, even the charms to keep her stocking seams up and straight seemed to be working, which was a minor miracle in and of itself.
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