Fame Isn\\\'t Everything

Chapter Five ~ The Past That Haunts You

There he sat, right in front of her eyes, looking exactly as he had when she had last seen him, except, perhaps, a little older. The eyes were the same, of course. Eyes never changed.

"Cor," Tonks breathed. "I'm dreaming, right?"

Something flittered across Harry's expression, almost looking like a smile. "Do you dream about me often?"

Tonks fingered the wooden table. They were in what passed for Harry's kitchen in his tiny one-room flat. The table was stained and nicked, and most of the other furniture looked beaten as well. She supposed he didn't entertain much.

What struck her as odd about Harry was the perpetual look of 'Fuck the world' he seemed to have plastered on his face. It wasn't so much odd as...sad. It hurt her to look at him for too long though he never took his haunted green eyes from her face.

Waking up in an unfamiliar house was an experience she had never cherished. No good had ever come of it. Her head still ached terribly despite the healing charms she had used, and she had practically passed out once she realised she was seeing Harry Potter again and that he wasn't dead.

They had been sitting across from one another for nearly an hour without speaking until Tonks broke the silence. One of them was going to have to say it.

"Not you, exactly," Tonks replied. "But...everyone. Everything. You do show up from time to time."

Harry appeared not to have heard her. "What are you doing here? It's bad enough I got that bloody phoenix, now I have to deal with you, too?"

"You got the phoenix?" Tonks said, her eyes widening. "Then you're coming?"

"What?" He frowned. "Not a chance."

"But, but," Tonks stammered slightly, "you have to. We took the oath."

"Bugger the oath."

"Harry," he flinched at the sound of his own name, "Ginny needs us. Have you even looked at a paper?"

"Not recently."

"Well, then let me fill you in."

It took some time for her to explain all the relevant details. When she had finished (with expressive gestures and everything) she waited for some sort of response.

Harry's expression had shifted slightly from 'Pissed Off' to 'Mildly Vexed.' It was hardly an improvement.

"I don't see how that affects me," he said coldly.

Tonks gaped. "But...but Ginny needs our help! We took an oath!" A thought occurred to her. "You don't think she's guilty? Not Ginny!"

He pretended not to hear her. "What are you doing here? Is this some stupid plea to bring me back? Send the woman, let her use her 'feminine wiles' and Potter will soften?"

"Don't be an idiot," Tonks snapped. "I was taking a Portkey to London but it dropped me here by mistake." She looked at him suspiciously. "Did you knock me unconscious and drag me in here like some sort of...of bloody caveman?"

Another faint smile passed over Harry's features. "No, I'm not in the habit of clubbing young women over the head. You were unconscious when I found you." Annoyed he asked, "Which begs the question, how the hell did you land on my doorstep?"

"I have no idea," replied Tonks honestly. "One minute Australia, next minute Canada. I was on my way to London, the Portkey must have malfunctioned. Of course, I wouldn't put it past those idiots at the Australian Ministry to have tampered with it."

"Where were you supposed to meet?" Harry asked curiously.

"Twelve Grimmauld Place."

Crash

. He had knocked over his cup of tea; the broken shards lay forlornly on the cold cement floor.

"That's Sirius's home," he growled, his skin pale and sweaty.

"It was," Tonks replied, trying not to show how he was scaring her. "It belongs to me now. I suppose they thought it would be best as it's still hidden under the Fidelius Charm and has been abandoned for many years."

Harry began to drum his fingers on the table. Lost in thought, it took several minutes of pretending to cough for her to capture his attention. When he looked up, he looked furious again.

"Seven years, and now everyone wants me to just walk back in like it never happened? With all the history, the bad feelings, the betrayal? I can't trust you people again."

You people.

Now Tonks was angry. "You have to come back! We took the oath! We swore. You have a responsibility to help Ginny."

The chair clattered to the floor as he leapt out of his seat, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at her.

"You dare to preach to me about oaths? You? You ran away without so much as a backward look, and you are going to lecture me about my responsibility? Where the bloody hell do you get off telling me what to do?"

Reminding herself sternly that she was an Auror, Tonks met his gaze, shaking ever-so-slightly.

"You are a bastard," she said calmly, though her voice quavered. "Do you have any idea what the rest of us thought when you took off? Do you? You were our hero, our leader, for all of your eighteen years. And when things didn't go according to plan, you abandoned us."

As abruptly as a shift in the wind, Harry resumed his seat and pointed towards the fireplace without indicating he had even heard her words. Tonks felt as if she were carrying this conversation all by herself, and it was beginning to vex her.

"Take the fireplace and go," Harry said quietly. "Get out."

Tonks looked towards the chipped and broken fireplace which was barely more than a pile of bricks held together by glue.

"I can't travel across continents in that!"

"It's perfectly safe." Harry reached for the Floo Powder; his voice was still level. "Here."

What the hell had happened to him?

Tonks wondered, horrified. This wasn't the Harry Potter she knew. Admittedly he had only been a boy when she had known him, and now he was a man. He hadn't grown up normally. And it had only got worse after the last battle.

She looked quickly around the nearly empty room. Everyone else, they had gone their separate ways and forced themselves to build new lives. Some of them, she knew, had succeeded rather well, although things weren't the same. But Harry wasn't living. He was merely existing for an indefinite period of time.

Tears formed in her eyes and she turned her head so he wouldn't see. He was so hateful now. He had nothing particularly to live for. She wondered what kept him going. There was no joy in his life.

Unable to take his pain any longer, she took the powder, whispered, "Incendio," and tossed it on the flames crying, "Twelve Grimmauld Place."

The trip was very long, and Tonks screwed up her face tightly so as not to get ash in her mouth or eyes. Her arms were held against her side. At one point she inhaled too deeply and the dust filled her nose. Sneezing, she lost what little balance she had, and flying out of the fireplace, she landed on top of someone, struggling to remove her wand from its holster.

Then she got a good look at him. Panic-stricken, she wished desperately for a comb and a bath. This was not how this meeting was supposed to go. She was supposed to be wearing something beautiful, clean, and alluring, not covered in soot, dishevelled, and nauseous.

There was nothing for it, however.

"Wotcher, Charlie."

~~~

Neville was hopelessly lost.

While Luna and Moody wandered the streets of Diagon Alley chatting away like old friends, Neville had trailed behind, more or less tuning them out. He was caught up in his own world; he had many questions that he wanted answered.

Why had they been captured in the first place? How had Moody got them out so easily? Because, in Neville's opinion, the rescue had been far too simple. There hadn't been any guards or traps, or even obstacles. They had practically waltzed right out of the Keep.

Thinking deeply about this, Neville neglected to realise he was no longer following Luna and Moody and had, in fact, wandered into Knockturn Alley.

He intended to just turn around and march right back out but at that moment he caught sight of a collection of Militia members, and as he had no desire to go back to prison, he ran for it. Better to be a free coward than to be brave and be locked up or killed. This rationalisation didn't prevent him from feeling just a little bit ashamed.

To his despair, this only led him further and further into Knockturn Alley. Having never entered it before, he had no idea how to get back out. This area was more a labyrinth than Diagon Alley was and he had a hard enough time navigating that. Nothing but dark alley ways surrounded him, stinking of something he didn't want to contemplate. He didn't understand the attraction that it held for some people.

As he passed stores with window displays of shrunken heads, poisons, and mummified limbs, he decided that only someone who was seriously twisted would enter Knockturn Alley of his own volition.

Avoiding short piles of rags which croaked at him and could only loosely be termed 'human,' piles of what he prayed were animal bones, and rotting pumpkins, Neville tripped on the mossy cobblestones and fell heavily to the ground.

"Ugh," said an all too familiar voice. "Longbottom. Will they let anyone in here these days?"

Looking up, Neville discovered Draco Malfoy sneering down at him, most definitely looking the worse for wear. Gone were the days when Malfoy paraded around in the latest fashions; this Malfoy would have been thrown out of a sty as an insult to the pigs.

Scrambling to his feet, Neville was thankful he hadn't dropped or broken his wand in the fall. He pointed it belatedly at Malfoy, his hand shaking so much that it nearly fell. Malfoy watched him expressionlessly.

"Oh, quit being such a tosser, Longbottom." He rolled his eyes. "If I was going to hurt you, I would have done it already."

"I wouldn't put anything past you," Neville replied, holding his wand out in front of him.

Malfoy was grinning now. "Good place for murders, Knockturn Alley. Do you know how many people have died down these dark alleys, Longbottom? No one ever counts, it'd take too long. The Moronic Militia doesn't bother policing down here, they'd be here forever. When people die in Knockturn Alley no one cares."

"What do you want?" Neville willed his voice to come down to a lower register.

"Since you're here...I want you to deliver a message to those idiotic friends of yours."

"I don't know what you mean." But Neville had a terrible suspicion that he did.

Malfoy sighed. "Look, I know all about the reunion of your bloody Order. I find it rather amusing that you has-beens actually think you can make a difference. But Barnes isn't coming back. Frankly, you're all delusional."

"And the message?" The fear was quickly dissipating; Neville remembered just how much he hated Malfoy.

"Give up. And leave me out of this. I've got an iron-clad alibi, Longbottom, so if your little gang is going to try and pin the blame on me, I'll dig up everything I know about you and not one of you will be able to walk in public again, mostly on account of being locked up in Azkaban." His eyes glittered. "Or the Keep."

"Bol--Bollocks," Neville stammered. He had led an exemplary life, with one or two exceptions; Malfoy couldn't have anything on him. Could he?

"Consider yourself warned." He turned to leave, but then turned back again and removed an envelope from his stained and patched cloak. "Give this to Weasley when you see her. For her eyes only. There are some pretty nasty curses attached for those who peep."

And he was gone as suddenly as he had come, leaving Neville with a dirty envelope and the feeling that someone had poured ice down his back. He turned away, shuddering, and looked for another way out.

After being propositioned by a witch wearing very little clothing, Neville decided it would be best to go inside and ask for directions. He stumbled toward an oddly lit pub which according to the wooden sign swinging above was called The Manticourt.

It was his worst nightmare, worse than the Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, which was hardly the most reputable of taverns. This one made that look sterile.

Grease was predominant in the cramped one room pub; it coated everything including the floors. A mismatched collection of chairs and tables cluttered the room, and a line of wobbly stools sat against the bar. Lanterns in the shape of bats hung from thick iron chains which lit the room with a dim glow and created several convenient shadows for certain parties to lurk in.

Neville swallowed deeply. Most of the patrons' eyes had turned to look at him as he entered, then dismissed him as unimportant. One person, whose pale complexion and bloodshot eyes indicated he might be a vampire, was still watching him.

Taking a greasy seat at the bar, he kept his head low and ordered a butterbeer. A warm slippery bottle was placed in front of him, but his mouth was so dry that after handing over his money, he drank half of it in one nervous gulp.

After several tense minutes where no one tried to kill him (which he took as a good sign), he decided to ask for directions out of Knockturn Alley. He was about to tap the black-hooded wizard next to him when he felt a tap on his own shoulder. Turning around, he came face to face with the man he thought might be a vampire who now had two of his friends behind him.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" the man intoned.

"I don't think so," Neville squeaked, turning back to his butterbeer. His shoulder was tapped again.

"Then what are you doing in our bar?" The man smiled and Neville sat transfixed by the two gleaming incisors.

"I...I...I just needed a drink and d-directions," stammered Neville, trying to get up. He was forced to remain seating.

"No one comes in The Manticourt who hasn't been approved by us," the vampire hissed. "Isn't that right, Armand?"

"That's right, Cal," the bartender replied, shrugging at Neville as if to say, 'Your funeral, boy.'

The other customers had turned to watch; confrontations like this were what passed for entertainment in Knockturn Alley. For some it had been days since they'd seen a good brawl. Their cold, empty eyes haunted Neville as he hurriedly weighed his options.

"So I think perhaps we had better see if you're...worthy."

Neville wondered just how much damage a kick to the groin would do to the undead. Cause him discomfort, certainly, but would it distract him long enough so that Neville could get away? And would he be chased?

Neville was saved from having to make the choice by the wizard with the black hood who leapt up and threw a wooden stake with alarming accuracy straight at the vampire's chest. The vampire let out a loud shriek and fell to the floor as a pile of dust. His two companions looked from the wizard who had thrown the stake, to the dust on the floor, to each other before coming to a wise decision and fleeing.

"Drop a bit of blood on him and he'll be fine. Remind him not to torture the newcomers."

Neville's jaw dropped when he caught sight of his rescuer.

The hooded wizard was not a wizard at all.

"Neville?"

"Angelina?" he gasped.

~~~

As Hermione stepped into St. Mungo's she suddenly felt a pang of longing for the life she had left behind so many years ago. It wasn't that she regretted her choices exactly. She was happy with Ron, travelling the world, although she often longed to settle down nearly as much as he did. It was just that this could have been her world, and she missed it.

At age seventeen, Hermione had been the youngest witch in fifty years to be accepted into a special St. Mungo's training programme for Healers, surprising everyone who had no idea she was interested in magical medicine. She had been in training for less than a year when the final conflict had come about and they had all separated.

She looked around as Healers rushed about in their lime green robes, with the St. Mungo's insignia stitched on it, with a small amount of jealousy. Her Healer training had been completed rather haphazardly, attending lessons and lectures wherever she and Ron happened to be at the moment. Even her extended stay at the Crete Institute where she was pronounced a fully qualified Healer left her feeling inadequate, especially when faced with all of these professionals.

Approaching the desk labelled 'Inquiries' she asked for Healer Darcy. She was directed to the second floor, Magical Bugs, the children's ward.

Heading straight toward it, Hermione was amused at how it felt as if she had never left. She turned left down a corridor, past the Philippus Aureolus Paracelsus Wing which housed victims of sillycosis, and paused at the door with her hand on the handle. Reminding herself that this was an old friend she was visiting, she slowly pushed it open.

The room was painted in cheerful colours and the wooden beds which lined the walls were made up with sheets in greens and blues instead of the typical hospital white. A portrait of Flaminia Curatio, the witch who discovered a cure for dragon pox, smiled at Hermione and winked. Bright rugs with cheerful animal patterns lay on the floors, and on one a group of children sat listening with rapt attention to the witch who sat in an armchair before them. Her deep voice was pleasant as she read them a story.

"And so the two little Muggles were punished by their parents for trying to shove the nice old witch lady into her oven. The witch moved to a flat in Hogsmeade and made a lot of money by selling gingerbread cottages at Christmas. The end."

A little girl who disappeared and reappeared every time she hiccuped said plaintively, "Another story, Sarah, please?"

"One's enough for now, Lucy," the Healer replied with a smile. She looked up and noticed Hermione at the door. "It's time for a nap. If you're all good we'll play Capture the Unicorn later."

"I'm too old for naps," one boy who looked to be about eleven grumbled. His face was covered in green spots.

"Just rest then, Peter. Those dragon pox won't get better without rest and you want to be better in time to start Hogwarts, don't you?"

As soon as all the children were tucked away in bed (there were ten in total), the Healer went to the door, turned off the lights, and motioned for Hermione to follow her down the hallway where she wrapped her in a hug.

"Hermione! It's wonderful to see you again, my girl."

"Likewise, Sarah."

Sarah Darcy was several years her senior, and they had been in the St. Mungo's training program together. The tall, plain witch was gentle and kind and had always wanted to work with children. It would seem she had succeeded.

The two had kept in touch for a few years via owl, but the letters dropped off as each became very busy and had little time for letter writing.

Hermione opened her mouth to discuss the reason she had come, but a young, skinny man in lime green robes came rushing up to them looking panicked. He glanced quickly at Hermione and, failing to see the green robes, he immediately wrote her out of his universe and directed his attention to Sarah.

"You'd better come quickly, Jillian Perkins is turning orange!"

"Did you give her any of the Hue Elixir?" He shook his head and Sarah sighed. "Give her a goblet of that and I'll be there as soon as I can." She looked at Hermione and added: "Oh, I'm sorry. Healer Wheeler, this is Healer Granger."

"Weasley," Hermione murmured, shaking the young man's hand.

"Indeed?" Sarah looked at her curiously. "You'll have to tell me all about that. Go on, Wheeler, I'll be there soon."

He nodded and ran off and Sarah turned back to Hermione. "Weasley, hm?" She grinned. "The red-haired young man who used to come around here to pick you up nearly every day?"

Blushing, Hermione reminded herself that she was not a girl anymore and had been married for quite some time already.

"Yes, that's him."

"How lovely. And what about your other friend...what was his name again?"

Shocked at how easily the world seemed to have forgotten Harry, she replied, "Harry. Harry Potter."

"That's right. How is he?"

"I don't know. We lost touch." Hermione was well aware that if everything went as Ginny hoped, she would be seeing him very soon. She wasn't sure she was ready for that.

"That's a shame. So what are you doing in London? Weren't you in Greece or some such place?"

"Yes. Ron and I have come to attend to some family matters." She hoped Sarah wouldn't ask further questions that she wasn't allowed to answer. It was time to come to the point instead of making small talk.

"Sarah, do you remember that package I gave you to hold on to for me when I left? I told you that I might want it some day in the future, but I didn't want it then?"

Sarah frowned in thought. "Yes, I believe so."

"You...You still have it, don't you?" Hermione's pulse quickened. If that package were lost...

Smiling, Sarah replied, "Of course. It has been collecting dust in my Gringott's vault."

Extremely relieved, Hermione smiled back. "Were you ever tempted to look inside?" If it had been her she would have wanted to peek; the package had changed hands under mysterious circumstances.

"No," replied Sarah, looking puzzled. "Why would I?"

"No reason," Hermione shrugged, relaxing somewhat. "Can you get it for me?"

"Sure, I'll go once my shift is done." She noticed Hermione's rather obvious agitation and laughed. "Or I could go get it now. But you'll have to cover my shift."

"Me?" Hermione's mouth went dry. Her? She had been doing mostly private consultations in the past years; she hadn't worked in a hospital in a long time and she had very rarely worked with children. It wasn't that she didn't like children, it was more that she didn't know how to relate to them. She hadn't known how to relate to them when she was one.

"Certainly, you are certified, aren't you?"

"Y-yes," Hermione said slowly. "But, Sarah--"

"Jillian Perkins seems to be suffering from chamelonitis. We're not sure how she contracted it, she probably caught it from a family member, but her earlier symptoms were fading into her background, etc. Unfortunately it has grown worse and she is now changing colours at random. Check to see if the Hue Elixir shows any improvement."

"But--"

"There, that's taken care of. Why don't you go attend to her and I'll go get your box."

"But I don't know where she is!" Hermione exclaimed before Sarah turned to leave.

"Wheeler will show you where." As she spoke the young wizard appeared around the corner and Sarah turned to leave. Before Hermione could say anymore, she had gone.

Wheeler was staring at her with an intense look of scepticism as if he doubted a woman her age could be a Healer despite the fact that he couldn't be much older than she was. After a moment's silence, he gestured down the hallway.

"This way, Mrs. Weasley."

She was led into a room that was stark in contrast from the first children's ward. No colour painted these walls. Even the floor was a sterile white tile, and iron bed-frames lined the walls; the bedding was white as well. Hermione was directed to the bed which had curtains (white, of course) pulled around it. Wheeler stopped right in front of it.

"This is the ward for more...serious sicknesses," he said in a low tone. "The children in the ward you saw earlier have a minor bug and will be out in a few days. The children here...they are in for a longer stay. Call me if you need assistance."

He left and Hermione faced the curtains, completely bewildered. She summoned her self-assurance which rarely failed her, and held the curtains aside.

Lying in the bed was a small girl, about six or so, with hair so dark it emphasised the paleness of her skin. This was mostly because her skin was absolutely white, as white as snow. As Hermione came closer the girl began to turn blue.

"Who are you?" she asked softly, with a hint of fear. "Where's Sarah?"

"My name's Hermione," Hermione replied. "I'm taking over for Sarah for a little while. You're Jillian, right?"

The girl nodded. She looked so miserable and unhappy that Hermione's heart went out to her.

"Why don't we brighten this place up a bit?" Matching actions to words, Hermione took out her wand and waved it around. Vivid colours shot out the end and splattered against the walls and curtains. A burst of sunlight spread down the sheets and Hermione conjured a stuffed bear and handed it to Jillian, who giggled.

"That's loads better. I like you."

"Why thank you," Hermione said, smiling. "Now, I'm supposed to ask: did you take your Hue Elixir?"

Jillian, now a shade of mauve, made a face. "It's nasty."

"But it'll help you get better. Do you remember how this started?" Hermione took a seat by the bed and handed her the goblet.

"Yes." Her face, which had momentarily brightened, fell. "My mummy and daddy were fighting, and I just wished...I wanted to disappear. So I did. I wanted it all to go away. But they kept fighting."

"And you thought it was your fault," Hermione said, her throat tightening. Jillian hadn't contracted chameleonitis from someone else; she brought it upon herself, through her desire to disappear, which was not unheard of.

"It was, they were fighting about my powers," Jillian whispered, her lower lip quivering.

"And no matter how much you tried, you couldn't get them to stop." It occurred to both of them that she was no longer talking about Jillian.

"How do you know?" asked Jillian, slightly curious.

Hermione smiled sadly. "Are you a pureblood, Jillian?"

"No." Jillian shook her head. "My mummy's a Muggle, my daddy's a wizard."

Nodding, Hermione said, "It's not your fault, you know. They love you, and they love each other. It's just hard for grownups sometimes to accept magic."

At least that's what she had told herself. She had tried to convince herself that her parents were arguing about something else. That it wasn't her magic powers that was splitting them apart.

"My mummy wants to take me away. She says she'll bring me up normal. My daddy won't let her." The tears threatened to fall in Jillian's eyes and she clutched the bear Hermione had conjured in a death grip.

"She can't, Jillian," Hermione said, taking the little girl's hand. "You know about our world. And you have to use your powers, or they could cause harm."

She closed her eyes. "When I was just learning how to be a Healer, a boy was brought in, he was only thirteen years old. He had never learned about magic, his parents got his letter and thought it would be better for him to be brought up to be 'normal.' He got very sick. Your mum loves you very much, Jillian, and she wants what's best for you. But she can't keep you from your magic. Your daddy knows this. It'll be all right."

It was the familiar old adage that she had repeated over and over again. There was something comforting about those four simple words. And she had been wrong. Things weren't all right, at least not for her parents.

But it had worked out for her. She had Ron, and she loved him so much. Their acquaintances hadn't thought they could make it work, but that was because they didn't really know anything about her and Ron.

She had been hesitant at the first, remembering what had happened to her parents. She didn't want to make the same mistake with Ron and ruin their friendship, but she realised she loved him too much to keep him an arm's length away.

Caught up in her own thoughts, Hermione didn't notice right away that Jillian was crying. When she did, she leaned over and gave the girl a hug. She wouldn't have to worry, the chamelonitis would go away once she understood the source of it, and Hermione didn't doubt Sarah would be able to help her. Once Jillian fell asleep, Hermione went to check on the other children. She bounced back and forth from bed to bed prescribing various potions and antidotes.

After several hours passed, Sarah came back triumphantly with Hermione's package. The younger witch barely paused to thank her before she was gone. Used to odd disturbances such as that one, Sarah returned to her work with a bemused smile.

Hermione arrived back at Twelve Grimmauld Place clutching the package in much the same way as Jillian had clutched the teddy bear. After making sure that the only sounds in the house were coming from the kitchen, she went into the bedroom she and Ron were staying in and closed and bolted the door.

Normally conscientious about wrapping paper, Hermione ripped the brown packaging away in her haste to get the box open. She sighed in relief to see that it was undamaged.

The silver glow of the Pensieve lit the determined expression on Hermione's face.

~~~

"You know, this wasn't how I expected this meeting to go," Charlie commented as he helped Tonks to her feet. She was absolutely filthy. He hid a smile; she was cursing under her breath. That was the Tonks he knew and...that was enough of that.

"Me neither," Tonks replied grimly.

He had planned a million witty things to say when they met again. Not one came to mind.

"Er, so...."

"Yes."

There was a long awkward pause. Then they both spoke at the same time.

"How have you--"

"Do you still--"

Another awkward pause. Tonks blushed slightly and said, "Sorry, you first."

"I was going to ask how you've been," Charlie muttered, running his fingers through his hair. Oh no, he thought desperately, not the blush. Not now.

Tonks stared at him. Was he blushing? Was the calm, cool, collected Charlie Weasley blushing? Over her? Of course, she hadn't seen him in a long time; perhaps he had changed.

"You look well," he continued. 'You look well?' What am I, her grandfather?

"Thank you. So do you."

The silence between them was so heavy that each staggered under its weight. Tonks opened her mouth to fill the void when she realised they weren't alone. A small red-haired child was fast asleep on a bed nearby. She had miraculously not awakened when Tonks made her entrance.

"Who's this?" she whispered.

Charlie smiled at the little girl, and Tonks was amazed; she hadn't seen that look on his face in a long time. It was the way he used to look at her.

"This is Katelyn," Charlie said, still smiling. He paused, unsure of how Tonks would react. But she had to know, he needed to know what her response would be. It would decide so much for him. "She's my daughter."

Tonks gasped, and tried to cover her surprise. "Your...your daughter?"

Her hopes plummeted. For a moment there, upon seeing Charlie whom she had been so in love with, she thought they could possibly fix their relationship, start anew. They hadn't seemed to be beyond help.

She had nearly forgotten how very in love with him she was. It had scared her all those many years ago; she had been unused to such powerful feelings and felt herself too young to be so violently in love. And Charlie led a dangerous life, she hadn't felt she could get seriously involved with him.

But she had. She had allowed herself to show how much she cared and Charlie responded with equal emotion. Then she had run away...

When she had made the decision to return to London, she knew she'd be seeing him again. She welcomed it. Everything she had felt for him had never gone away, she had just buried it deep down. But now...

"You're married?"

Charlie, who had been watching his daughter as she slept, looked up sharply. Did that sound like regret? Was she upset? Could she possibly still care?

"No." Thinking about Sofiya never got easier. "I'm a widower. Sofiya died in childbirth."

Without thinking, Tonks put her sooty hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

He flinched and pulled away slightly. Tonks, startled, removed her hand like she had been slapped. Charlie wanted to apologise, but he didn't know how. He had been a fool to think that they could act like nothing had happened. Too much had changed between them.

"She's beautiful," Tonks whispered softly, looking at Katelyn.

While her head was bowed and she avoided his gaze, he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Her dishevelled hair was brown with fuschia streaks, and her eyes were the colour of molasses. Her body was the same as he remembered, slim and fit, although more...mature. There was something irrevocably different about her, less of the carefree cheerfulness that had marked her youth. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Charlie."

Her voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes, Tonks?" It was the first time he had said her name out loud in a long time.

"Let's be friends, for Ginny's sake."

Staring blankly at her, Charlie struggled to find something to say other than, "What, we couldn't be friends otherwise?" What was she saying? Was she so uncomfortable in his presence that she would have to pretend to be his friend?

They certainly hadn't split on the best of terms. She had broken his heart, and she was probably aware of it. So how dare she be the one to take offence at his being present?

"Fine," he replied, a touch coldly. "Why don't you get cleaned up."

Startled at his suddenly icy tone, Tonks could only nod. Now she had really ruined it. Why did she have to open her big mouth?

Romance was not something that came easily to her, for while many men were attracted by her bright smile and bubbly personality, they were easily turned away when they discovered she could change her appearance at will. Charlie had been different. He fell in love with her, not what she looked like.

Now that was lost. He hated her now. He had met someone else, fallen in love with her, and they had had a child together. It was too late. His wife had probably been gorgeous, elegant, brilliant, and everything Tonks was not...and she had to stop thinking like that.

"Don't you even have anything to say to me?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Like what?"

"Like asking me what I've been doing these past seven years? Or how I even got here? Why I came back? Why I left in the first place?" She was so angry that she couldn't stop herself.

Charlie paused. "Are you inviting me to ask those questions?"

"If it'll make it any easier for you to look at me without flinching!"

"I wasn't aware that I was flinching. But for Merlin's sake, Tonks, look at it from my point of view, would you? My ex-girlfriend, who I spent three years trying to get over, comes waltzing back into my life and I'm just supposed to be all right with it? I'm not like you, taking everything in stride. You may have been prepared for this, but I came back to London to visit my father and to escape a psychopath, and suddenly I found myself in the middle of a conspiracy against my baby sister! So excuse me if I have a hard time trying to digest all this information."

She stood rigid and sniffed. "Fine. I'll go clean up so I don't offend your honour. Good day, Mr. Weasley."

Groaning, Charlie reached for her. "Tonks..."

"What?"

"Don't...just don't be like this."

"How would you like me to act? This isn't easy for me either, you know." Furious at both him for having changed and herself for being idiotic enough to think he wouldn't, Tonks turned and stomped towards the door.

"Goodbye, Charlie, I have to speak with Remus."

And she left, angrily trying to prevent herself from crying. Charlie looked down at Katelyn and swept some of her soft curls from her face. Then he sank to his knees beside her bed and placed his face in his hands. That had not gone well.

What could he say to her? 'I finally thought I was over you, and now that you're back in my life I'm more confused about how I feel than ever before?' And what about Sofiya? He loved his late wife deeply; would it be disrespectful to her memory to admit he still cared about Tonks?

Ionna came into the room as Charlie was pondering this. She took a seat by him and watched him in silence for a minute.

"That woman that was here," Ionna began, "you knew her before?"

"Yes," replied Charlie stiffly. "Why do you ask?"

Ionna looked at him with a small smile. "No reason. She seems very pleasant."

"She is," Charlie said distractedly. "She is. I'm going to go out for a while. Would you please keep an eye on Katelyn for me?"

"Of course."

Charlie kissed his daughter who stirred slightly, and then left the room. Crazy pirates threatening his life weren't enough; now he had to deal with an ex-girlfriend who he was still in love with.

~~~

"This doesn't make any sense!"

Graham rolled his eyes behind the Minister's back. When Percy turned around again, he pretended to be listening attentively.

"What doesn't, sir?" Disgusting, a Slytherin calling a Gryffindor 'sir.' Admittedly, Weasley had some rather pronounced Slytherin-esque qualities, but the man was such a wanker.

"This note that Jack wrote, the one that came from the kidnappers to prove he's still alive."

"Perhaps it's not really from him."

"Oh, it's genuine, there's no doubt about it. We did a handwriting analysis."

Ugh. Graham grimaced. Muggle technology.

"What's the problem then, Minister?" If things were right with the world, a Slytherin would be in your place, you bloody idiot.

"It's Jack's handwriting all right, and it even sounds like him." Percy's tight smile grew tighter. "I always told him that devil-may-care attitude would be the death of him. But the content is ridiculous." He passed it to Graham who glanced quickly over it.

Percy,

It is all right, my injuries are negligible. Obviously I can give you no clue as to whom my captors are. I can only reassure you that I am indeed alive. My seal is at the bottom. Furthermore, I will tell you something that only I could know. Saint, I am not. Remember that time that we went looking for centaurs in the Forbidden Forest? I was certain we'd end up in the Hospital Wing, possibly dead. Alex Bonham thought we were crazy, but we showed him, no? Still, I didn't have faith in you, my friend, so I am sorry.

Don't give them the money, old chap. I'll be just fine.

Like a phoenix to the flame,

Jack

"I don't see what's so ridiculous about it, sir." Tosser.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Percy went to look out the window while Graham scowled and glared at his back. "Tell me, Pritchard, what do you know about Jack Barnes?"

Graham looked up in genuine surprise. "Er, well, just what everyone else knows, I suppose."

"Precisely. But I knew him from school..."

There was a long pause and Graham thought that Percy had forgotten he was even in the room as he stared out the window. Then he said:

"Send Miss Hopkirk in to see me, Pritchard."

Standing up, Graham was pleased to comply with this request as it would give him a chance to bother Hopkirk a bit more. But as he left the Minister's office, he was waylaid by Natalie McDonald who approached breathlessly.

"Pritchard!"

He groaned. He did not need this right now. "What, McDonald?"

Natalie McDonald was hideously unattractive and the most goody-goody Gryffindor he had ever met. Fortunately they didn't come in contact very often as she was preoccupied in the Department of International Magical Co-operation, but every so often she came running to him when she had a dilemma.

"Have you taken a look outside?" she asked, impatiently brushing the coarse brown hair from her eyes.

"No. What's wrong?" There was something in her tone of voice that told Graham this was no ordinary problem.

"We have people outside demanding that we find Barnes. They're getting violent." Her eyes were wide, but Graham had the sneaking feeling she was enjoying the whole situation. "Whoever leaked it to the press will be in huge trouble!"

"Take it to the Minister then," Graham smirked. "He's the one who ordered us to print the story."

He found it rather hard to believe so many people were that concerned over Barnes's disappearance.

"Storming the gates are they?" He had to fight an insane desire to laugh. Natalie looked annoyed.

"Stop it, this is serious. We've had owls pouring in about Barnes; everyone wants to know what we're doing about it! I have ambassadors from Peru, China, and Kenya in my office as we speak, demanding that we find the man! I've never seen such a fuss over one person!"

"Well," Graham shrugged, "he's rather special, isn't it."

Natalie sniffed. "He's only a man."

"All of the people knocking down the doors would beg to differ."

"Pritchard, what are we going to do? What is the Minister doing about this? What will I tell all of them?"

"Calm down," Graham instructed. As much as he detested Natalie, her acting hysterical wasn't going to do any good. "Go see Weasley and get a press release."

She nodded and ran off down the corridor. Graham watched her go for a moment before turning and walking to the Militia compound.

After a cursory search, he was passed through and he went straight to the top office which belonged to Jack Barnes's right-hand woman. She was sitting at her desk scribbling something urgently on a piece of parchment. Without looking up as he entered, she addressed him.

"Well? What is it? I hope this is important, Pritchard."

He didn't bother to ask how she knew it was him. "Apparently there is a large mob outside demanding to know what progress is being made on finding your beloved Barnes."

He didn't even see her move, but immediately she was standing behind him with her wand at his neck.

"You're a loser, Pritchard," she whispered. "Because you don't have a connection to anyone. So you're always going to lose. You don't get it. You don't understand the power behind it."

Taking deep calming breaths, Graham replied, "And is your 'connection' helping you to find him any faster?"

"Minor details, you idiot. Don't screw this up for us. You're only alive while you can be some use. As soon as you stop being useful, you stop being."

"Duly noted," Graham replied dryly. He pulled away from her. "I have a message to deliver. Good day."

She watched him go with a smirk. Stupid boy. He didn't understand anything. That was why he made such an excellent tool.

~~~

"Ten?" Ginny repeated. "That's all?"

Remus sighed. "In addition to your family, myself, Hermione, Tonks, Minerva, and Severus...yes. Kingsley will be here in the morning, Hagrid and Elphias Doge are expected to arrive this evening, and Emmeline Vance is taking a train out tomorrow afternoon. In addition Dedalus Diggle owled to say that he'll be here as soon as he can get through Italian customs."

Frowning, Ginny muttered, "That's not enough." She looked at Remus. "There were so many more, what happened to them all?"

They were in the kitchen of Twelve Grimmauld Place, and Remus had come to deliver the results of sending the symbol. He had an odd prickling feeling on the back of his neck, but ignored it for the time being.

"Many died in that last battle, Ginny," he replied sadly, remembering fallen comrades. "Others have passed on since. And the rest...they aren't willing."

"You mean they don't believe me." Ginny had long since used up her tears, or she might have cried. "I'm being selfish. I am grateful for what help is offered. You said ten, but that's only five. What about Neville and Luna?"

"Moody's collecting them now. He's number eight. He'll be awhile, he said there were some things he needed to pick up. The remaining two are Jacqueline and Thomas Barge."

Ginny vaguely remembered the couple as expert lock-picks and trackers. She forced Remus to meet her stare when she asked her next question.

"What about Harry?"

"He won't come."

Tonks took a seat next to Ginny and gave her a wan smile. "Thought I'd report in. He's not coming, Gin. He doesn't want anything to do with us."

Her heart beginning to beat faster, Ginny asked, "How do you know that?"

"No one told you?" Tonks frowned. "Oh, of course not, I only arrived an hour ago, how would you know? I saw him, Ginny. Something malfunctioned with my Portkey as I was coming here, and somehow I was dropped in his lap. It wasn't a particularly pleasant meeting. After a few choice words he sent me flying through his ruined fireplace."

She reached for an apple, and now Ginny was the one to frown. That wasn't right. He had to come, he had sworn. Harry may have been a lot of things, and for all she knew he had changed quite a bit, but he wasn't the type to go back on his word. Or was he?

"So that's it. That's all we have. The rest won't come."

"Can you blame them?"

Remus looked up, startled, and Tonks dropped her apple. Ron entered the kitchen, took a seat across from his sister, and picked a banana from the bowl on the table. Ginny frowned at him.

"Not now, Ron."

"Hear me out. We may all have got past it, but most of the others haven't. And it looks black against you, Gin. You've got to take what you've got, and it isn't much."

"Then we should induct more people into the Order," Ginny replied testily.

Instead of arguing with her as she expected, Ron nodded. "That was my suggestion. We're going to need more help if we're to hunt down Barnes and clear your name." He turned to Remus and handed him a slip of parchment. "I've written down some names of witches and wizards I think will be useful. Unfortunately we're not in the best of circumstances, and I'm not exactly sure who we can trust. You know how it works, Remus, you'll have to interrogate each new candidate rather thoroughly. Tonks, why don't you assist him. Talk to Charlie and Bill and see if they recall any of their friends who might be Order material."

Ginny wanted to ask him who had put him in charge, but stopped herself because he was right, and he was doing this for her which showed her that she was earning back his trust.

Remus and Tonks nodded and left to owl the names on Ron's list, leaving Ron and Ginny alone for the first time since they had come to Twelve Grimmauld Place. There was a rather long, uncomfortable silence between them before Ron spoke.

"Harry...he's not coming, is he?"

Ginny couldn't tell if Ron sounded disappointed or relieved, but she could tell he had been practising saying Harry's name aloud.

"Not according to Tonks."

Ron looked surprised. "How would she know?"

"She said she saw him. Oh, Ron, I can't believe that he wouldn't honour the oath. Doesn't he have any idea how much we need him? He's...Harry."

"I think that's the problem. Bloody git." Ron said this without emotion as he appeared to be thinking about something else. "Did she say she came here from his place?"

"Er, yes, I believe she said she Floo-ed." Ginny's eyes widened. "Of course! We can cast a reverse tracking spell on the fireplace she came out of to find the location she left from. Then we can go speak to him!"

"Whoa," Ron said, holding up a hand, looking alarmed. "Slow down. One, you have no idea if that would work. Two, what's this 'we' business?"

"Oh, Ron," Ginny said, disappointed. A moment ago he had been so determined to help her. "Don't you see? We need to go to him and convince him to come back!"

"We don't need to do anything, Ginny. If Harry doesn't want to come back, then he probably has a reason, and I don't want him here if he doesn't want to be." Ron pushed back his chair and stood. "I'm going to find Hermione and then get some sleep. We'll continue our battle plans later. And I'm serious, Ginny: leave Harry alone. It's what he wants."

He left the kitchen, and Ginny sat in silence for a moment staring at the table. Then she said, "Precisely how much of that did you hear?"

"Quite a bit," Snape replied, stepping out of the convenient shadows. "I am supposed to be watching you."

"I'm not going anywhere." Ginny bit her lip. "Except..."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"I expect you got some idiot idea into your head of spelling the fireplace Nymphadora Tonks flew out of this afternoon so that it will take you through the fireplace she left from. Furthermore, you expect me to accompany you."

"You are supposed to be watching me."

"Don't attempt to be cute."

"Please, Professor Snape, couldn't you do me this one favour? I need...we need Harry's help desperately."

"Under the circumstances, Mrs. Day, my wish is supposed to be your command."

Ginny pushed back her chair so roughly that it fell to the floor and stuck a shaking finger under Snape's nose. Her cheeks were flushed, but he seemed unconcerned and continued to lean against the wall.

"Do not call me that," Ginny said in a low tone. "Ever."

"Very well, Miss Weasley. I am still not giving you permission to go find Harry Potter."

Prepared to rant, cry, and plead until he gave in, Ginny was thrown off when he continued smoothly.

"However, if you, for reasons known only to you, decide to visit Canada, the Calgary area, perhaps, then I suppose I have no choice but to escort you as you are under my watch."

She stared at him open-mouthed and he smirked.

"I suggest you do something with your hair before we leave."