@vibrantlxve from here
The usual outgoing, bubbly witch sucked in a shakey breath and turned her head away from him. Quickly, she brushed the stray tears away and squared her shoulders. Effectively putting on a show of indifference along with a plastered smile to top it off she turned back towards him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Everything is just fine in the mad, bonkers world of Tonks.”
But her normally vibrant hair had dulled, along with red rimmed eyes. Only a fool would miss how upset she was. Every one relied on her to be brighten up a room, even in the darkest of the times. It was something she prided herself in. But her usual facade had broken down in the shadow of death. “Did you want some tea?” Perhaps with a bit of distraction she could get him to forget her moment of weakness.
He was struck with the echo of a memory — Charlie had been eight years old when his uncles died. Not old enough to really understand the war raging on around them, but old enough to think he did. He’d retreat into himself for months when he’d found out Fab and Gid weren’t coming back, but he wouldn’t ever forget the way his mum had cried. Or how fiercely she’d pretended —in front of her children, at least,— not to.
Damned if he was going to just stand by while his friend tore herself apart the same way.
“Y’don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,” he murmured, expression pensive over tense folded arms. “But don’t pretend you’re just-dandy, either, alright? Didn’t come back mostway across the continent to lie t’ each other.”
His eyes searched her expression another moment before he sighed and squeezed her shoulder, tilting his head to draw her gaze back to a soft, encouraging smile. “’D love a tea, though. Since you’re offering.”