Suicide and Whimsy

Suicide and Whimsy

Chapter 1 - The Mysterious Suicide Of Miss Nymphadora Tonks

Nymphadora Tonks killed herself at the height of summer, and her funeral was on the hottest day of the year. As friends and family shifted uncomfortably in their heavy black funeral cloaks (wholly inappropriate for that time of year, but part of an important tradition and a mark of respect for the deceased), her casket was committed to the pyre.

Harry looked on in dazed detachment. This was the third funeral he had attended in as many months, but this was his first proper Wizarding funeral. The first had of course been Sirius', but as he had fallen through the Veil, there was no body to bury (or, indeed, burn). The second funeral, barely three weeks before, had been that of Aunt Marge. She had died of a heart attack shortly after her beloved dog ----- was put down for biting a toddler, and it had been a very ordinary Muggle affair. Harry had been surprised to see Uncle Vernon crying ("What do you know, he is human after all"), and was almost - almost- - worried about the fact that he didn't feel anything about her death at all. However, he reasoned that she had treated him so badly in the past, and he had just suffered the loss of someone he really cared about, so he was entitled to a little lack of remorse - and perhaps even the tiniest amount of sadistic enjoyment.

When the service was over, they took off their uncomfortable funeral cloaks and changed into Muggle dress to attend the reception at the Tonks' house - ordinarily Harry would have found it indescribably odd to see Dumbledore dressed in navy blue trousers and a striped shirt, but nothing made all that much sense today.

Fred and George had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, Bill and Charlie were making bland small talk with other 'distant' mourners, and Percy hadn't come. Molly was trying to comfort Andromeda Tonks, while Arthur was doing his best to make sure Molly didn't step over any invisible lines and upset the poor woman further.

Harry was trying to avoid Hermione, and as such also had to avoid Ron - despite the fact that he really wanted to talk to him. Harry hadn't spoken to Hermione since Sirius' funeral a couple of months ago, when the two of them had had a massive row about how Harry was coping. Harry was able to think about everything very rationally in a detached sort of way, but every now and then it would get a bit too real and he found it better to pretend that everything was fine. But Hermione wouldn't let it lie, and insisted that he needed to open up and talk about Sirius' death, and that it was "unhealthy" to bottle everything up. To Harry, it felt like he was underwater and breathing through an oxygen tank, but occasionally the tank would run out and he had to hold his breath. What Hermione was trying to do felt like trying to make him breathe water.

Ron, in a surprise move, had sided with Hermione on this occasion. Although he still spoke with Harry and the two were still best friends, there was a definite awkwardness there, and often conversations were cut short because they veered into dangerous, Hermione-shaped territory.

Ginny was there as well, with her new boyfriend Dean Thomas. The two of them were sitting on a couch in the mostly deserted living room - most people were outside in the garden. Dean looked uncomfortable and Ginny looked sullen, but Harry decided that it was better to sit with them than with Hermione and Ron, or the strangely quiet twins.

"Er, hi Harry," Dean said as he removed his arm from around Ginny's shoulders and put his hands limply in his lap. He was slouched over slightly, probably trying to melt into the background lest any random aunt should come over and start asking him about Tonks - who he had never personally met. His simple black suit looked rather rumpled, and there was a faint mayonnaise stain on one lapel.

"Hi Dean. Some weather we're having today, eh? Must be the hottest day of the year," Harry said, sounding just as bland as Bill and Charlie.

"Er, yeah," Dean replied pathetically, looking down at his hands in his lap. "Did you see the match the other night?" he asked suddenly, making his own attempt at bland conversation.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry latched on to this like a lifeline, although he didn't have a clue what game Dean was talking about. "It was really great wasn't it?"

Dean's face fell slightly.

"Oh, so I take it you're an Arsenal fan then."

"Er, no, I just -" Harry started, but was interrupted suddenly by Ginny, who seemed to wake up out of a stupor.

"Why did she kill herself?" she asked Harry. It was a direct question, aimed squarely at him. Dean went very quiet, and paled under his dark skin. Harry faltered for a moment, before looking Ginny straight in the eye and replying in an even tone;

"I don't know, Ginny. I doubt we'll ever know."

"I don't suppose she felt it was our business," said a voice behind them. All three of them turned around to look at the speaker. There were two girls who looked about twenty standing behind them. The one who had spoken had long dark hair and a blank expression on her averagely pretty face.

"Well, seeing as how she didn't leave a suicide note or anything," added the second girl, who was shorter and had dark blonde hair.

Ginny got up abruptly without saying anything and walked out of the room. Dean looked after her, and then back at Harry and the two girls.

"I, er, I'll just..." he trailed off, pointing in the direction that Ginny had gone, before getting up awkwardly and walking after her.

"Sorry I scared off your friends," the blonde girl said, sitting down where Ginny had been.

"Yeah. Sorry," the other girl said, sitting beside her friend. The three of them sat there for a minute or so, not talking and feeling uncomfortable, before Harry broke the silence.

"So, erm, how did you know Tonks?"

"We were friends with her," the dark haired one said. She hesitated to say "best friends", because it felt rather inappropriate. Like claiming ownership.

"Oh," Harry had just run out of conversation. He was about to start talking about the weather again, when the blonde girl unexpectedly jutted her hand out in front of her.

"Hi, I'm Patricia," she said with forced cheerfulness. Harry looked at her hand blankly for a moment, and then shook it.

"I'm Harry."

"And I'm Amy," the other girl gave a small wave from the other side of the couch.

"Hi," Harry gave a small wave back.

"Do you want a drink?" Amy asked him.

"Okay," he replied, feeling all of a sudden very thirsty. Amy got up and motioned to the other two to follow her. The three of them went into the kitchen, and the worktops were all stacked with cases of beer, bottles of all kinds of alcohol, soft drinks, and plates of Clingfilm-covered sandwiches and mini sausage rolls.

"What would you like?," Amy asked them both. "There's lager, wine - in a box, ooh classy," she said sarcastically before continuing, "vodka, Bacardi, whiskey, brandy - ugh - Midori, Amaretto, Tia Maria, Baileys, gin, tequila - wait, who's going to be drinking tequila at a funeral?"

"Us, probably, in a few hours' time," Patricia quipped. Amy gave an amused snort from inside the fridge, which she was currently bent over looking for more drinks.

"So what'll it be?" she asked, standing up.

"I want a Baileys, where's the ice?" Patricia said, looking for the freezer.

"In the freezer, I think they moved it down to the basement a couple of months ago," she turned to Harry. "And what about you, what would you like?"

"Er, I'll have a lager, thanks," Harry answered, trying to sound like he did this all the time.

"Is it really in the basement? Crap. I'll be back in a minute," Patricia said as she left the kitchen. Amy completely ignored her.

"Right you are, do you want Carling, Carlsberg, Kronenberg, Grolsch, some strange Czech beer I can't read the label of, Budweiser or Miller?"

"Er, Carlsberg, thanks," Harry said the first one that came to mind, and looked around for the opener.

Patricia came back shortly, and the three of them ended up sitting on the kitchen floor chatting for an hour or so, Patricia with her Baileys, Harry with his lager and Amy with her wine. She resisted the Chablis in the fridge (as it obviously wasn't for guests) and stuck with the "classy" wine-in-a-box. Harry found out that Patricia and Amy were twenty two and nineteen respectively. Patricia had been friends with Tonks since school, and Amy had met her through Patricia. They were reliving their past exploits with her, while getting steadily tipsier and eating all of the mini sausage rolls, when Hermione - with Ron in tow - came in to the kitchen and found them.

"Harry! There you are, I've been looking all over for you. I think we should talk," Hermione spoke down to him on the floor, sounding just as bossy as when he first met her - although there were definite signs that she had been crying.

"I am talking," Harry replied defiantly, "to Patricia and Amy here. Patricia, Amy, this is Ron and Hermione. Ron, Hermione...likewise."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Ron said with an uncertain smile.

"Nice to meet you too," Amy said, and Patricia smiled back at him.

"Hello," Hermione said impatiently, "but really Harry, you know I meant -"

"It's nice to see you Ron," Harry spoke loudly, interrupting Hermione. "Haven't in a while. We really should meet up and do something, you know, just the two of us, wouldn't that be nice."

"Er, can I get either of you two a drink?" Amy said suddenly, scrambling to her feet, trying to break the tension.

"Yeah, I'll have a beer," Ron said gratefully.

"Nothing for me thanks," Hermione said tersely, looking at Harry with a frown on her face.

"Patricia and Amy are friends with Tonks- er, were friends, er..." Harry trailed off uncomfortably.

"'Are', 'were', lets not think about that sort of thing at the moment," Amy said a little too brightly - well, a lot too brightly considering they were at a funeral reception. "Here Harry, have another drink. We seem to be out of Carlsberg - will Kronenberg do you?"

"Yeah, that should be fine, thanks" Harry was surprised out of his hostility, and went back to being normal.

"How about you, er, Ron is it? That good for you too?"

"Erm, yeah, that sounds good."

"Sure you don't want anything Harriet?" Patricia asked Hermione.

"It's Hermione. And no, thanks. Come on Ron, lets go find Ginny." With that, she gave one last look at Harry - who was pointedly ignoring her - and turned on her heel and left the kitchen. Ron shot an apologetic look at his best friend and left, the bottle in his hand still unopened.

***