A Raid

The chaos had died down. Pieces of plaster were no longer falling off the ceiling, and the crashes and curses were replaced by the sound of tramping feet. Moody, Shacklebolt and Philip Verrick were standing on a shattered door, while another behind them hung off one remaining hinge. Everywhere the signs of a violent Auror raid were visible - and of the resistance that had met it.

Moody's magic eye turned inwards; he did not turn around, but spoke as if he could see what lay behind his shoulders - something to which neither Shacklebolt nor Verrick could ever get used. "Are you certain these are all the prisoners, Tonks?"

Tonks suppressed a temptation to jump, and answered mildly: "I cannot be sure, Mad-Eye. In fact, I am nearly certain that someone has managed a disguise spell and is hidden somewhere in the house. I think you and Auror Verrick ought to do a sweep."

"Any evidence?" asked Verrick.

"No, just a feeling. I have... you know what I mean... that kind of thing when you know there is something just on the outer edge of your view, and still... you turn and cannot catch it."

Moody nodded grimly, and, without a word, turned to begin a magical-eye inspection of all rooms. The house was surrounded by an Auror Mist, a spell that prevented anyone from entering or leaving save with Auror escort, and which, once the Aurors had left with their prey, would slowly close into the building and automatically restore it to a normal appearance. It was a powerful spell, that only several Aurors working together could accomplish, but it made their work so much easiear.

Tonks watched Verrick and Moody vanish into the pantry next to the kitchen, and turned to face the prisoners. She made sure to keep them bracketed between Shacklebolt and herself, and always in her sight, but there was little need: there was no fight left in them. She looked at the provider, an older wizard in smooth silks but with an indescribable air of seediness about him - why is it, she thought, that Dark Magic always seemed to leave its mark on people? They always ended up looking ugly, or mean, or seedy. Then her eye fell on the three teen-agers; either fresh out of Hogwarts, or even still members - and what a reason to ruin their future, she thought with contempt. She scanned them briefly and her contempt turned to anger: one Hufflepuff and two Gryffindors - members of her own House, demeaning everything it stood for. Then there was another middle-aged wizard, with the unmistakeable signs of the addict, sunken cheeks, eyes smouldering as if with fever, and those large horse-like teeth, almost straining against the lips; he could have been taken for a full-blown vampire, if you did not know the difference. No Death Eaters; Lord Voldemort kept too tight a grip on his closest followers for them simply to indulge their desires in such an open and risky manner. Besides, the pleasures he provided were keener and more addictive even than this. But the two nondescript people in their twenties, a witch and a wizard, who were standing rather apart from the rest, were, she was sure, among the hangers-on of the Voldemort gang, and it might be that a threat of Azkaban might recover some useful information. And finally...

Tonks looked at the woman; at her well-cut robes, the ring on her finger, the nicely preserved figure and complexion, all the signs of a respectable, settled prosperity - a witch in her forties, a wife and mother, looking, in that decayed-looking and certainly criminal assemblage, astonishingly out of place. Their eyes met; the woman managed to look completely blank -not ashamed, not defiant, not angry or complacent or self-righteous or any of the dozen different reactions familiar to Tonks from people caught with their hands in the cookie jar. If Tonks' eyes asked what is someone of your kind doing in this kind of place, the woman certainly showed no intention of answering.

Suddenly there was a scream, some thumps, and a crashing; some more plaster fell from the ceiling - a large chunk of it directly on the woman, disarranging her coiffure and dusting her all over with white chalk. And the woman's expression changed, as her head snapped towards the stairs, from which a number of thumps and yelps came. Tonks saw the anguish and despair, and even before Verrick and Moody came through the door, she had guessed what they would be taking: a dishevelled, struggling boy of about sixteen - clearly the woman's son.

...............................................................................................................

It was only later, during the formal questioning at Auror Central, that Tonks was able to satisfy her disgusted curiosity. Someone else was assigned to question the boy. But his capture had broken the woman; there was no resistance left in her, and none of the impenetrable reserve she had shown earlier. And even so, Tonks had to control her own anger.

"Please keep your remarks to the point. All this self-justification is doing nothing for you," she was forced to say at one point, as she surreptitiously pointed her wand at herself and performed a silent Calming Charm.

"Why? You Aurors ought to understand better than most. The rush - the sense of expansion - the wildness, the wildness!"

"Being a vampire is not a rush, it is a curse. And to submit to the curse just because of the rush is criminally irresponsible. Everyone knows that. That is why we have laws against it."

"Those laws are nonsense. We know when we enchant ourselves that there is a time limit. We know how to control ourselves."

"And is this why you allowed your own son in this kind of company?"

"Yes. As far as I am concerned, the laws against Pseudovampirism are outdated and ridiculous. I was teaching him to enjoy himself safely."

At this point, Tonks needed another blast of Calming Charm before she could trust herself to speak.

"No more than a week ago," she said once the Charm had taken effect, "I was called upon to subdue and stake a girl who had been bitten by someone very much like you. We know that it was not a true vampire, because the bite marks are quite different. Why, it may have been one of your friends... it may even have been you. This girl had bitten her whole family, turning them all into true vampires, and we had to destroy them all to stop a plague spot. And she was no more than six. This is your safe, woman."

"Yes," answered the woman, "I know about that. But after all, they were only Muggles, so what is the problem?"

End of the story.