Wardens of Wizardkind

Author's Note: This story takes place during the last days of August, just before the beginning of Harry's seventh year (or, if he's not going back to Hogwarts, the big fat dropout, what should be his seventh year, I guess). It's set in my Lovely LB Universe of HP Fanfic, which consists of several completed fics and a few works-in-progress.

Summary of what's going on in my little world: Remus, McGonagall, and Mad-Eye were given control of the Order after Dumbledore's passing. They've all been quite busy, and some of their activities have left more long-term results than others; it wouldn't be so drastic, really, had Tonks not been on the receiving end of defective Contraceptive Potion. She got knocked up, Remus proposed, Arthur tricked Percy into signing a waiver for the restrictions against werewolf marriage, and they're living in newly-wedded bliss at Grimmauld Place.

Thus begins our little tale...

* * * ONE * * *

It had taken place at sunset on a clear, breezy Saturday evening, one that epitomized the blissful not-summer-yet-not-quite-autumn weather of late August. The sparse clouds that drifted by had framed the happy couple in gossamer bands of pink, purple, and orange as dusk fell. Such a beautiful wedding, everyone agreed...

...Even if it had been planned in less than a week, and moreover, would likely cause a bloody uproar as soon as the Ministry got wind of what had happened.

Monday morning dawned cloudy and damp. Nymphadora Tonks (well, Nymphadora Lupin, as of two days prior) hadn't set her alarm clock. She'd figured her new husband would wake her up in plenty of time to get to work. He'd signed on for the whole deal, after all, and that included the unenviable task of trying to roust her in time for a quick shower before she had to Apparate to Auror headquarters.

Her eyes opened to a room full of sunlight. "OH, BLOODY HELL!" Tonks shrieked, jumping out of bed and grabbing the clock from the bedside table.

Apparently, it wasn't late enough in the day for her morning sickness to have passed, since she hadn't even been able to get a clear glance at the time before she had to rush off to get ill.

On her way to the bathroom, she could've sworn she heard voices downstairs, but she was in a bit too much of a rush at that moment to investigate.

"Hello?" she called weakly after she'd finished, crawling across the tile. "Anyone home?"

Grimmauld Place was usually deserted during the daytime hours, so Tonks was surprised when Molly Weasley's voice answered from just outside the bathroom. "Good morning. Don't worry, dear. Remus thought you might like to have a bit of rest after the excitement of the past few days."

"Molly," Tonks protested as she hauled herself up the doorjamb, "I had to go back to work this morning! I still feel like death warmed over, mind, but I'm running low on sick leave. I need to go in today."

Molly bit her lip. "Why don't I help you down the stairs, and we'll have a cup of tea."

"What's going on?" Tonks asked with as much vigor as she could manage.

"Er. Dear, perhaps you should just have a seat and we'll talk here."

"In the loo?"

"It's handy," Molly said vaguely, settling herself on the edge of the tub. "Besides, you're looking a bit green as it is."

Tonks was becoming alarmed. "Molly. Tell me what's happened."

Molly motioned for Tonks to sit on the floor. The Weasley matriarch took a deep breath, handed the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet to her young friend, then hurriedly lifted the toilet seat.

In enormous, blaring letters taking up half the front page, an article read:

MINISTRY EX-AUROR WEDS WEREWOLF

"Wardens of Wizardkind" Organizational Spokeswitch Dolores Umbridge

Vows Action be Taken Toward Immediate Disollution of Marriage,

"For the sake of all that is Good in our World"

Tonks made it through the entire headline before she was violently ill all over the paper.

Wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her bathrobe, Tonks staggered into the doorframe, a landscape hanging in the hall, and finally, into her room.

Molly could hear Tonks' weeping all the way from her perch on the tub. She glanced at the newspaper and lifted her wand.

"Scourg - Oh, sod that. It's no more than she deserves."

She left the newspaper, covered in sick, on the bathroom floor, with the enchanted photograph of Umbridge's pallid face wearing a disgusted expression as she continually tried to wipe the mess from her eyes.

* * * TWO * * *

Molly had brought in a cup of peppermint tea and a large wastebin, wiped Tonks' face with a warm, moist flannel, brushed her hair off her neck and fastened it back into a tail, and, with a sympathetic expression, left her to her misery.

Tonks was certain she'd never felt more wretched in her entire life. Never mind the constant nausea that was part and parcel of her pregnancy to that point; she'd made the front page for marrying the man she loved, simply because he was ill, through no fault of his own. She'd lost her job over it, for Godric's sake. No wonder Remus didn't get me up this morning, she thought. He must've seen this first thing, and figured I might as well have a lie-in, as I'm unemployed and all.

She reached for the bin for the third time in half an hour.

"Eurgh," she moaned, flopping back onto her pillow. She lifted the neckline of her nightshirt and peered down. "You'd better be one beautiful baby, after all this," she growled at her abdomen.

"If the baby looks like her Mum, she certainly will be," a hoarse voice replied from the doorway.

Tonks dropped the shirt and turned her head to look at her husband. "Wotcher."

"Wotcher, yourself," Remus said, crossing the room to sit gingerly on the side of the bed. "Feeling pretty miserable, are you?"

"Oh, no, I'm effing fantastic," Tonks said bitterly.

Remus took a deep breath. "Molly said you'd seen the paper."

Tonks began to reply, then held up a hand. Remus grabbed the bin and held it under her head, just in time.

"See, I'd wanted to do that when I first saw it, too, but I didn't think you would want competition, since you're getting awfully good at getting ill. I'd hate to try to compare to this," Remus said in a casual tone, still holding the bucket, as Tonks was fiercely sick several times in succession.

"Sod off," she muttered with her face in the wastebin.

"Just making conversation."

Tonks finally lifted her face. "Hand me that tea?"

She took a sip, used it as mouthrinse, and spat it into the bin. "Be a dear and Vanish that, would you? I'll have to fill it again soon enough, I'm sure."

Remus settled his wife against the pillows. "Evanesco. Can I get you anything? Water?"

"Please."

Remus returned after a few minutes, carrying a goblet and the loath issue of the Prophet, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot. Tonks sipped at the water, eyeing the paper distastefully.

"Are you feeling up to reading the rest?" Remus asked, kicking off his shoes and settling himself against the pillows beside her.

"In a bit," Tonks murmured, closing her eyes. "I know I have to read it, but I really don't want to."

Remus' mouth turned up at one corner. "If it makes you feel any better, I'll let you vomit on Umbridge again once you're through."

"You've got yourself a deal. And you're more than welcome to join me, of course. I'd enjoy the company. Hand it over."

Tonks spread the proferred paper out across the mattress beside her, and propped herself up on an elbow to read.

Beneath the headline, the article itself began:

In a statement made at a press conference early Monday morning, Ministry employee and moralistic crusader Dolores Umbridge revealed that a permit for a waiver to Werewolf Legislation Act, subsection 41(b), had been mistakenly issued this past Friday afternoon.

"Such an abomination of our laws requires no fewer than five signatures, one of which must be that of the Minister for Magic himself. It appears as though a high-ranking employee signed by proxy. As for the other four workers who gave an endorsement, they will be questioned, and most likely suspended without pay."

When questioned on the identity of the proxy for the Minister, Umbridge gave a dismissive wave and an airy laugh. "Oh, we certainly won't punish him. He is a loyal servant of the Minister and the people of the Wizarding community. However, he has given us information as to how the certificate in question came to bear his signature, and the one responsible for playing such an unworthy trick on our government has, of course, been dismissed from Ministry service."

The ceremony itself, between dismissed Hogwarts professor and Registered lycanthrope Remus Lupin (WR-3468), and Nymphadora Tonks (whose employment with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was terminated without notice upon discovery of her prohibited marriage), has apparently already taken place. Since marriage is a binding magical contract, dissolution of the bond will prove difficult without cooperation of the two parties most directly involved, though Umbridge assures it can be done.

"One or the other in this depraved alliance will surely come forward once they realize what a terrible mistake such a marriage will prove to be - not only for themselves, but for the good of our community as a whole. Now, we all know that werewolves are immoral, bloodthirsty creatures without compassion or remorse; we cannot expect Mr. Lupin to present himself to the authorities. However, I implore of young Miss Tonks: Please, save yourself. It is up to you to set an example for other witches of your generation. After all, marriage is meant to be shared by a witch and a wizard. A union between a human and a half-breed is unholy and simply wrong."

When asked if Umbridge was speaking on behalf of the Ministry, or her organization, Wardens of Wizardkind, Umbridge smiled and said, "Well, of course all self-respecting wizards within the Ministry agree with my own convictions, because what I believe is only proper. However, my official purpose today is to speak on behalf of Wardens for Wizardkind. We represent the preservation of rights for all humans in our world."

Wardens of Wizardkind, founded by Umbridge four years ago, has campaigned before the Wizengamot to have merpeople tagged, centaurs branded, and sphynxes spayed (campaigns which have been fruitless, though Umbridge has expressed and interest in bringing the issues before the high council again in coming months). The Wardens of Wizardkind's efforts to have vampires undergo mandatory dental extraction have also met with minimal success. However, the organization's efforts on behalf of werewolf control aided in the formation of the Werewolf Legislation Act of 1994, which severely curtailed the rights amongst the wizarding world of those infected with lycanthropy.

"Well, of course it doesn't matter that they can't be employed - they're werewolves," Umbridge insisted when asked if the restrictions might be overly severe. "We must think of the our rights in this matter, most of all. This is simply an issue of safety. Can you imagine being exposed to a werewolf in the workplace? What if you were bitten?"

Dolores Umbridge urges any person with knowledge of the nuptials in question to contact the Ministry immediately. A reward for information leading to the apprehension of Mr. Lupin or his spouse has been offered by Wardens of Wizardkind. Ms. Umbridge herself guarantees that those who come forward will not face Ministry prosecution.

Tonks managed to re-read the article three times before she was ill.

"Darling," Remus said, stroking her hair, "you missed the paper."

"Use it to line the owl cage," she moaned, her voice echoing inside the bin. "I'm not wasting good food, even regurgitated, on that piece of shite."

Remus carefully folded the Prophet with the front page facing the inside and lobbed it across the room. "Done?"

Tonks came up for air. "I think so."

"Good," Remus said, putting an arm around her.

They sat in silence for a while.

"From what I gathered from that utter bollocks, you're a fugitive now, right?" Tonks murmured into his shoulder.

She could feel his nod against her hair.

"I guess a honeymoon's out, then."

"Love," Remus chuckled, "The honeymoon's officially over."

Tonks managed a weak giggle at that.

Remus stroked her hair and sighed. "I was so afraid that it would be nothing but trouble for you if we were to get involved. Now, we're married, for Merlin's sake, and you've lost your job over it - and what's more, we've made the front bloody page."

"The Malfoys must be jealous. Their wedding only rated Page Three."

Remus couldn't hold back a great snort of laughter. "You're something else, you know that?" he asked, pulling her closer.

"So I've heard. And I can be someone else, too, if I close my eyes and concentrate."

"No. You're always you."

"That's not necessarily such a great thing."

"Sure it is," Remus said, giving her a gentle shake. "I mean, I can't think of anything better than a person who has a good enough heart that she can see past poverty, and illness, and more trouble than I think either of us could've expected, and still find something to love."

"Shut it, you daft prat, and give me back that goblet. I'm thirsty."

Tonks gulped the rest of her water in a rush, then made a face. "This whole situation is just terrible. If I read correctly - Arthur's been sacked as well?"

Remus surprised his wife by grinning widely. "Yes. It's not all bad, though. I've hired him on as Associate Guardian of the Order. I'll need a dependable right-hand man until we sort this out."

"Brilliant! What's he think of this?"

"Well...He was just glad to have another job so quickly, at all. I signed over half my share of the Guardian account to him and Molly - I do hope that's all right." Tonks nodded, smiling to herself as she recalled the past week, and all the Weasleys had done to help her and Remus.

"I wish you had been down there to see when I handed over the Gringotts book," Remus continued. "Arthur nearly fainted, though I did feel bad about making Molly cry again."

"I'm glad some good is coming of this, at least." Tonks had been feeling quite cheerful, until she realized what had brought the change in employment arrangements about in the first place, and sobered. "Molly must be devastated about what Percy did, though."

"That reminds me. Don't mention his name any time soon. In fact, that's one of the reasons I insisted they let you sleep. You certainly didn't need to witness the scene we had in the kitchen. It got pretty ugly this morning."

Tonks shuddered. "I'll just bet it did."

"Since Arthur's out of the Ministry, he told Kingsley and the others to say he tricked them into signing that decree, same as Percy claimed he did. It's nasty business, but Arthur says he's perfectly all right with it, so long as everyone gets out with their dignity intact."

"But what about you? You can't stay in this house forever. I mean, look what it did to Sirius. Besides, you've got Order business!" Tonks was beginning to feel another wave of dread (and with it, one of nausea as well), as she contemplated her new husband being cooped up in Grimmauld Place.

Remus shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Moody's loaning me his Invisibility Cloak for me to use while we're traveling, and he and I are going to partner for missions. He figures he'll see whatever I don't. It should make things as safe as they're going to get."

"Good," Tonks sighed in relief. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than a sharp jinx in the behind.

They sat in silence for a while. Tonks made a face. That last attack of queasiness hadn't abated in the slightest.

"I can't tell you how grotty I feel right now."

"After-the-full-moon nasty? That bad?"

She mulled it over. "Yeah, okay, so maybe you get it."

"I find that a warm bath can work wonders."

"If you take one now, can I come too?"

Remus tightened the hand already around her shoulders and slid his other arm beneath her knees. "I'll do better than that. Tub-side delivery service, madam?"

He carried her to the bathroom, stopping on the way to fetch the rubber duck from the dresser.

* * * THREE * * *

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was growing worried. He trusted Lupin not to hex his wife, and vice-versa, but after the morning they'd had, he wouldn't put it past either of them to do something drastic. Their worlds had been turned upside-down. People did strange things in times such as these.

Mad-Eye stumped up the stairs and prowled the halls, his magical eye swiveling wildly and peering through solid surfaces.

He stopped abruptly outside of the bathroom, and turned to hobble as fast as he could back to the kitchen.

Molly had apparently been dragged off to the Burrow by her husband in order to have some rest after their very eventful morning. If they react the same way to change as those two upstairs, Mad-Eye thought, I'm just grateful to them for having taken it somewhere else.

One of the Weasley twins - damned if he could figure out which was which - was sitting at the kitchen table, going over a lengthy parchment business ledger.

"Hey there," Whichever-one-that-is Weasley said, doing a double-take at Mad-Eye's expression. "What's up?"

"Laddie," Mad-Eye growled, "If you ever lose an eye - no matter how useful the saleswizard at The Occular Outlet says it'll be - DO NOT get a replacement that can see through doors."

Twin Whichever looked bemused. "At it again, are they?"

"Gryffindor Junior, Son of Godric," muttered Mad-Eye, "I think I'd've been more surprised if she wasn't knocked up by now."

The bath, and bath-centric activities, had improved Tonks' mood for a while. However, Remus had departed Grimmauld Place with Mad-Eye not long after getting her dressed in fresh pyjamas and settled back in bed, and her disposition had grown steadily more sour as the day wore on.

She finally gave up on trying to distract herself with reading the latest issue of Witch Weekly - it was nothing but articles on the latest in Mrs. Skower's magical cleaning products line and cooking, and as she was an all-around terrible housekeeper, it didn't hold much interest. She rolled over and fell into a listless sleep, and didn't wake up until late in the afternoon.

Tonks could hear the Weasley twins arguing as she stalked down the stairs. The Order meeting wouldn't be starting for another half an hour, but she was in the most foul mood of her life, and needed to do something other than screaming into her pillow. The twins were always good for a laugh. Maybe they'd cheer her up...

"...It's brilliant, Fred, I tell you."

"George, brother dearest, you are off your nut. It'll never sell."

"No, it will! I think it's one of my best ideas yet."

"You seriously - seriously - want to market something that will blast bat vomit."

"Yup! It's great, isn't it?"

"Guano's easier to come by."

"Well, bat vomit, bat shite, it's all the same difference, isn't it?"

"Er...No."

"But anyway, Fred, we should do it!"

"It's ridiculous."

"Don't you think everyone would just love to have a Bat Puke Cannon?"

"George. It's wicked stupid and utterly idiotic. Nobody could ever take it seriously."

"...Maybe you're right."

"I know I am."

"Well, it was worth a try."

Tonks entered the kitchen just as the twins finished discussing their erstwhile Bat Puke Cannon (she agreed with Fred; it may not have been the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, but it was definitely right up there on the list). A pair of identical faces glanced up at her and gave her matching nods of uncharacteristic solemnity.

Maybe this wouldn't be as much of a laugh as she'd thought.

"Wotcher," she muttered.

"Hey, Tonks," Fred (or maybe George, who could tell?) said, patting a chair nearby. "Have a seat, take a load off. I'll make you some tea."

Tonks gave the twin a skeptical look. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I don't trust either of you to prepare anything I'm planning to consume. Besides, I don't think I can sit still."

She was pacing the flagstone floor, biting her lip and feeling very agitated. Tonks headed over to the kettle and poured herself a cup of tea, drank it down in one gulp, then stared at the teacup.

"She's after us, too, you know, Umbridge is," Fred-or-George said, watching Tonks' thoughtful expression.

Tonks' head raised abruptly. "She isn't," she snapped, voice full of venom. "What in Godric's name is she on you about?"

"Believe it or not," a twin smirked, "It's those Pygmy Puffs."

"What could she possibly have against those little balls of fur?" Tonks asked incredulously.

"Well," snorted the other one, "It's because the males are pink and purple, too. Apparently it isn't keeping with traditional gender roles in the Wizarding community. Never mind the fact that plenty of wizards wear purple cloaks...She's got it in her head that she's right on this one."

Tonks couldn't hold back a laugh. "That's even more ludicrous than her issues with me and Remus."

"Yeah," a twin sighed, leaning back in his chair. "We've decided to make the most of it, though."

"How?"

"We're marketing fashion accessories. I must say, the red handbags are hot sellers. We're listing them as 'wallets'."

Tonks stared at them for a moment, then burst into a genuine fit of giggles for the first time in hours.

After a stretch, her expression sobered. She stared at the tea leaves pooled in the bottom of her cup, apparently deep in thought.

Suddenly, she lost all control, and flung the cup against the wall.

Fred and George looked at one another. As one, they got out of their seats and opened the china cupboard.

George - or Fred - gestured at the array of cups inside. "Shall we?" he asked Tonks solicitously, giving a little bow.

All three took a cup, took aim, and let them fly.

It was quite cathartic, really. They made short work of the cups and saucers, and moved on to the plates. The noise was enough to attract the attention of Molly Weasley, who had been dusting in the drawing room in preparation for the meeting.

Molly raced down the stairs and stopped dead in the kitchen doorway.

Fred, George, and Tonks likewise froze in mid-throw.

Molly's eyes traveled to the incredible mess of broken china scattered across the floor. She and stalked to the cupboard, peered inside, then fixed the three vandals with a beady glare.

"Four plates left. Four. Plates."

Her sons and Tonks cringed, steeling themselves for one of Molly's infamous rants.

The Weasley matriarch carefully lifted down the remaining china. She lined up the plates on the table - one, two, three, four - and glanced back.

"One for each of us." She handed one to each of the younger people, took one herself, and hurled her own platter at the far wall with surprising force.

"Mum..." George began.

Fred finished: "...Wicked throw. I bet I can get mine to shatter against that cupboard."

"You're on," Molly said, breathing heavily through her nose and crossing her arms.

The remaining china was smashed within seconds.

The four of them were silently admiring the handiwork of their pent-up frustration when Remus Lupin staggered into the kitchen and threw himself wearily into a chair.

"Long day," he murmured, eyes closed. "I sure could use a cup of...tea..."

The last word trailed off into nothingness as he surveyed the wreckage littering the kitchen.

"On second thought," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, "I think I rather fancy a goblet of pumpkin juice this evening."

"Stay put, dear. I'll get it for you." Molly bustled into the pantry and began preparing drinks for the meeting.

"Leave it?" George asked, gesturing to the ruined crockery.

"I'll get to it in a moment," Molly called from around the icebox door. "After all, it's one thing to be out of teacups for the meeting. It's another to be out of breakables altogether...and something tells me we'll be in need of some good things to throw once this night is through."

Sure enough, each Order member's face was a picture of grim determination as they arrived at Grimmauld Place for the meeting.

Kingsley was last to enter the kitchen, and he was carrying a rolled-up scroll of parchment and what looked to be a collecting tin.

"Well, that's that," Kingsley said, sinking into a chair and closing his eyes wearily. "I extend my most sincere apologies, Arthur, but I did as you asked. You've been blamed for the whole bloody thing."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Kingsley, I told you to put the heat on me. I was doomed to misery at the Ministry, anyway."

"Speaking of the Ministry," Mad-Eye rumbled, "Where in fresh Hades is Scrimgeour through all of this?"

Kingsley gave a short, bitter laugh, entirely without humour. "It seems as though Scrimgeour is spending several days at Camp Merlin, and cannot be disturbed. Bloody sod's put Imperturbable charms on the whole of the property, and owls keep bouncing off the perimeter."

All present rolled their eyes or grimaced in frustration.

Arthur, however, looked resigned to the incompetence of their world's leadership. "Well, at least we've still got an inside source for information. So long as you came out without a problem, that is?"

"Yes and no." Kingsley looked around at the members of the Order, then unrolled the scroll. "I was released from my little meeting with Umbridge under threat of being sacked, or having further punitive action being taken against me, including a drastic reduce in pay or demotion, unless I begin collecting signatures and Galleons for her. I've been essentially blackmailed into working for the Wardens of Wizardkind."

Everyone stared, open-mouthed, at Kingsley.

"Take a look at this," he continued, pushing forward the parchment. "It's a petition, though I think it reads more like a very bleak, badly-written comedy of errors."

All who read it agreed. It was ridiculous: Umbridge's pet causes were listed, and the phrasing of the missive atop the petition made it seem as though no witch or wizard with any shred of decency could possibly not sign.

"Sick," muttered Mad-Eye.

Tonks ran for the kitchen sink, apparently in wholehearted agreement.

"Well, don't just stand there, hand it over," Fred said, holding out a hand and looking gleeful.

"Fred Weasley, you cannot be serious!" his mother shrieked, looking horrified. His father appeared to feel the same way, as did the other shocked faces around him.

"Oh, but I am. I'll need a quill, too."

Fred scratched the tip of his nose with his quill, then signed the parchment in enormous letters.

George, watching over his shoulder, held out his hand for the quill. "Beautiful. If I may?"

When the petition made its way back to the others, the first two signatures read:

Ben Dover

Soddolph U. Greattoad

Remus smirked. "You know, that's all well and good, but the British magical community could do with more diversity, wouldn't you say?"

He added the signature of a Messr. Mustaf Herod Apyur-Poupr.

Before long, the parchment was filled, ending with Minerva McGonagall's stroke of genius, an ornate endorsement from one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Well, that takes care of that," Moody muttered, "but it's going to be Kingsley's arse on a plate if he comes in without donations tomorrow."

"That's easily enough taken care of," Fred said. "George, are Ron and his friends still at the Burrow?"

"Yup, should be. They saw the paper this morning and couldn't resist hanging around for the latest Order gossip."

Molly looked scandalized. "You aren't telling them the contents of Order meetings, are you?"

Fred and George exchanged looks. "Er, let's Floo over together, shall we?"

They dove for the fireplace, flinging in Floo powder and shouting "THE BURROW!" as soon as they crossed the hearth.

"Those boys," Molly groused.

"Well, the children are all of age now, save Ginny," Arthur said reasonably, "and it's not as though we ever had any secrets from her in the first place."

Molly sighed. "Nosy one, she is." She had been wringing her hands, but caught sight of the wrecked china still scattered across the kitchen, and jumped up to begin a flurry of reparo spells.

It didn't take long for the Weasley twins to return. "Got 'em," Fred grinned. He held out a palm to show seven fat gold Galleons. "Ours, Ron's, Hermione's, Harry's, Ginny's, and Luna's."

"Don't tell me you're using your own money for this rubbish," Tonks snapped.

"Nope. These are fake. They're the contact Galleons from the DA, our seventh year. Hermione made them herself."

"So, if Umbridge wants to spend them, it's her arse on a plate for passing off counterfeit gold," George continued.

"What's better," Fred added, "is that Harry already changed the serial numbers to contain a lovely little secret message."

He held one coin up to the light. Along the rim read eight numbers: "55378008".

"And what is that supposed to mean? It's not any code I've ever seen, and believe you me, young lads, I've seen 'em all," Mad-Eye snapped.

"Turn it over." George demonstrated. "Harry says he sent it to his Muggle cousin's pager - kind of like a little square owl that takes number messages from the fellytone - about a hundred times this summer."

"Didn't make sense for that lump of a cousin, though, since he's so fat he's got a nice set of his own," muttered Fred.

Several Order members guffawed as they caught on.

With a full parchment of bogus signatures and a heavy collecting tin stuffed with imitation gold bearing the upside-down message "BOOBLESS", the Order members present all agreed that they had made a decent start. However, derailing Umbridge was still their top priority at that moment, and they had not been able to form a concrete plan for her discreditment.

"We can't very well continue the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters at full strength without one of our three Guardians able to move about freely," McGonagall said, her lip curling up in a disgusted expression. "Besides, the rubbish that great toad is spreading is only going to divide the people of our world further, when we need to band together as one in order to survive at all."

A thoughtful silence reigned for a few minutes.

"Well," Remus finally said, "I say we adjourn for tonight, and plan to meet again tomorrow evening, if it would be possible. After all, Umbridge thinks she's on a roll. Let's give her another day to dig herself deeper into this pit of her own making."

Everyone agreed, and the meeting adjourned.

The First-Ever All-Order China-Throwing Tournament, however, went on well into the night.

* * * FOUR * * *

It turned out that Remus' suggestion was indeed a wise one.

The next morning's Daily Prophet arrived, once again with Umbridge's smug face plastered across the front.

"What's she looking so cheerful about?" Tonks growled.

Remus sighed. "Apparently, she's happy."

"Why, I wonder? She's certainly making me miserable," his wife muttered.

"Well," Remus suggested, "Ignorance is bliss, and she's by far the most ignorant person I know."

"Hear, hear," Molly chimed in.

Arthur shook open the paper. "Well, let's see what the toad has to say for herself today."

War Situation the Fault of Half-Breeds,

claims Dolores Umbridge;

Werewolves and Other Part-Humans to Blame for You-Know-Who's Return

"Oh, no," Tonks gasped, gaping at the headline. "Oh, no, she did not..."

"Apparently, she did," said Remus grimly. They read on...

In her second press conference in as many days, Dolores Umbridge, founder of the moralistic movement Wardens for Wizardkind, placed the blame for our current war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on "the foul creatures insisting upon sullying our society".

"Werewolves are without conscience, spreading their disease and their immoral lifestyles upon us," Umbridge stated late Monday night from her home in Lancaster. "Centaurs, such as the one currently teaching" (this said with unmistakable sarcasm) "at our children's school, are poisoning the minds of our kind by trying to pass off their own wisdom as far greater than it is. Vampires...well, they're not much better than werewolves, now, are they? Half-giants have been allowed to mingle with full-blooded humans for far too long, and their bloodthirsty ways will surely be the end of us all. It is because of these creatures, and others like them, that our society has been plagued once again by destruction. We have allowed such filth to live among us, and now, it is the good people of the magical community who suffer the consequences."

This statement came fast on the heels of the public dismissal of a Ministry employee, former Auror Nymphadora Tonks, after it was discovered that she had wed a Registered werewolf, Remus Lupin (WR 3468).

When freelance reporter Rita Skeeter asked if Umbridge's latest assertion reflected the views of the Ministry, or if this was a proclaimation stemming from the Wardens of Wizardkind group, Umbridge simply gave a wide smile.

"If you need to ask," she said, "surely you are no Good Witch."

Molly, Arthur, Remus and Tonks remained clustered around the newspaper for a few moments, utterly still.

"Tonks, dear," Molly said out of the side of her mouth, "if you're going to be ill, take a few steps to the right, if you would be so kind."

Tonks did better than that: She made a run for the bathroom, but was forced to come to a complete halt in the entryway, while she was still facing the portrait of Mrs. Black.

Remus was watching from the stairwell. "Nice shot, love."

Tonks staggered back down the stairs. "Thank you."

Arthur was still poring over the article. "This is utter bollocks," he cried, clutching at his receding hairline with both hands.

Remus, however, looked thoughtful, and even a bit amused.

The other occupants of the kitchen stared, stunned, at the slight smile on his face.

After a while, he spoke.

"I don't know. I think things are looking up."

"After this makes the front page?" Molly squawked.

Remus folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Yup."

"Sod the fact that he's a werewolf, I married a madman," Tonks muttered to Molly, who looked just as shocked as she felt.

"Case in point, ladies...and gentleman," Remus continued, giving a brief nod at Arthur, "Umbridge has just made a statement which is so off-the-mark, the vast majority of the Prophet's readership will realize that she is completely off her nut. Moreover, kind madams and good sir, it is irrefutable at this point that she is acting on her own. And, best of all, all this talk of marriage has given me a most delightful idea."

"If you're thinking of taking a honeymoon, forget it," Arthur said.

"Nope," Remus laughed. "I am, however, owling in a favor."

In a surprising display of sudden energy, he bounded up the stairs and went off to the library to compose his letter, leaving his bewildered wife and two stupefied Weasleys to wallow in their astonishment.

Tonks had already collapsed into her bed in an exhausted stupor when Remus finally came in.

"Wotcher, sweetums," she said sleepily. "Are you going to tell me what you've done?"

Remus chuckled as he pulled on his pyjamas. "Move over and give me some of those blankets, and I will."

Tonks rolled out from the middle of the bed and smiled as he snuggled up next to her. "This is nice."

"Maybe for you, but you kick me in your sleep, you know."

"You snore."

"You suck your thumb."

"You drool."

Remus looked highly affronted. "I do not drool!"

"You sure do. Like mad. And all over my pillow, no less."

"It could be worse. At least I don't wet the bed."

"There is that," Tonks conceded. "Now, tell me what you were up to."

"Well, as much as I hate to bring it up...It's about Greyback."

Tonks sat bolt upright in the bed. "Are. You. Mad?"

"Well, probably, but hear me out. It's a decent plan, if I do say so myself."

Tonks took a deep breath, then nodded slightly, signaling he could continue.

"You see, all last year, while I was with the ferals, I wasn't much good for their own cause. After all, the thought of spreading the condition, or living a life of crime, isn't exactly my cup of tea."

"I'm so glad," Tonks murmured.

"Yes, well," Remus carried on, "I had to find some way of getting them to accept me. Ironically enough, it was Fenrir Greyback who finally gave me an in with the group.

"He'd had a companion amongst the werewolves for years..."

"A female?"

"Right in one, of course."

"...Eurgh."

"I spent ten months living in a space devoid of walls with them. 'Eurgh' is an understatement. Talk about 'the fur flying'." He shuddered in horror. "Well, I'd been in the encampment with them for several weeks when I overheard an argument between Greyback and his companion."

"Does this she-wolf have a name?"

"See, that's where it gets really strange. Her name is Nymphadora, too."

"You're joking."

"Yes. I am. Her name is Raoulla."

"Prat." Tonks gave Remus a playful whack on the arm.

"Anyway, Raoulla had wanted Greyback to marry her. Apparently, it had been a bone of contention between the two of them for ages. She wanted him to be her mate, and to have it recognized as a permanent bond.

"She approached me one evening, asking if I was a fully qualified wizard, wanting to know if it was true that I was educated, and talented with spellwork. I told her I was. No sense being modest when she'd rip out my throat if I lied, of course."

Tonks shivered and cuddled closer to him. "I'm glad you're here."

"I am as well. I didn't think Greyback would let me live at all, though, once he found out what Raoulla had planned."

"What was that?"

"I'd learned the Consortium charm. Used it, too, two days before the full moon that very month. Greyback rather liked being a bachelor, you know, and was not exactly pleased to share his Alpha status with his woman."

Tonks gaped at him. "You actually performed a wedding between Greyback and this Raoulla?"

Remus nodded. "That I did."

She gave the matter a few moments' consideration. "Well, it won't be recognized by the government, but it's magically binding."

"Exactly."

"So she owes you one, is what you're saying...And you just sent her an owl to call in the favor."

Remus smiled down at her. "Clever girl, you are."

Tonks was still deep in thought. "Hmm. And what, exactly, have you asked her to do?"

"You know, I'm knackered. G'night." Remus rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

"Don't you even think about it!" Tonks cried, whipping the blankets from his face. "What did you tell this Raoulla to do?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Nothing she wouldn't do on her own. I just gave her a bit of a nudge in the right direction."

"Remus Lupin..."

"Well, we'll know more tomorrow. With any luck, this'll be the end of Umbridge."

"I don't know, Remus," she murmured uncertainly. "Umbridge has bounced back from plenty of bad publicity. This might not be what causes her downfall."

"Trust me, dear. She's going to fall, and fall well." He yawned. "We'll see if it worked in the morning. Good night, Nymphadora."

She huffed out a breath and flopped down on her pillows. "G'night...Prat."

She'd just started to drift off when she heard that dear, hoarse voice add, "I love you."

"Mmph mmm'oo," she mumbled around her thumb.

* * * FIVE * * *

The next morning got off to a memorable start, for a number of reasons.

First of all, Tonks was the first one up at Grimmauld Place. Notorious for not being much of a morning person, Tonks usually came stumbling down the stairs, bleary-eyed, half an hour before she had to be somewhere. However, she sat in the kitchen on that particular morning, watching the sun rise through the high, narrow windows, one of which was left open at all times for postal delivery purposes.

The anticipated Daily Prophet delivery came just after the grandfather clock upstairs struck seven (as well as striking the wall opposite with bolts; she'd have to get Remus back up there to fix it again). The owl shrilled indignantly as Tonks grabbed it firmly in her arms and wrested the paper from its talons, and nipped her hard on the fingers as it departed.

"Bloody owl," she hissed, around the injured finger she'd shoved between her teeth. Once her knuckle stopped throbbing, she rotated her hand and placed her thumb in her mouth instead.

"It's broad daylight and you're sucking your thumb. I'm assuming the paper's here."

Remus entered the kitchen and kissed his wife on the top of the head. "Shall we see if we're still front-page news?"

Tonks didn't even bother to remove her thumb; she simply nodded.

"Here goes nothing," Remus muttered, and he leaned over her shoulders to unfold the morning edition.

Sure enough, Umbridge was on the cover, once again. However, the smug expression was gone, replaced by one of utter panic.

Dolores Umbridge Retracts Statements of the Past Two Days:

Resigns from Ministry; Disbands Wardens of Wizardkind

Story by Special Correspondant Rita Skeeter

In an unprecedented third press conference within a span of thirty-six hours, Dolores Umbridge contacted the Daily Prophet newsroom via Floo connection at twenty minutes past three this morning.

Speaking in a rush, dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe, and wearing a most unusual enchanted moving necklace which appeared to have five long claws, Umbridge recanted the viewpoints expressed in her previous two appearances before the Wizarding journalism world.

"I apologize if I've offended anyone! Werewolves are fine, just fine, I'm sure they wouldn't hurt me or anyone else, please don't hurt me - Half-breeds are wonderful and they make numerous valuable contributions to society. The centaurs are much smarter than I am, merpeople can pop into my bathtub anytime they'd like, sphynxes are more than welcome to make ear-splitting howling noises beneath my window at night while they mate, and vampires should know that Honeydukes has Blood-Flavored Lollipops free for the taking this week, I've paid for their whole supply. Yes, that covers everything - Does that cover everything? Oh! You BIT - You're psychotic, you are, I'm not saying tha - OUCH! OKAY, OKAY! I hereby offer an official apology to Remus Lupin, as well as a full pardon for any offenses of which he has been accused, and any Ministry employees sacked within the past week are free to return to work. Yes, today! There! Now, please, oh, please, will you let me g - "

As the Floo connection was abruptly broken at this point, reporters did not have time for the question-and-answer session customarily held after Umbridge's meetings with the press.

However, in this case, we feel we have seen and heard more than enough from her.

They finished reading the article at the same moment. Their eyes met.

Tonks was grinning widely, and Remus' face wore a similar expression of delight.

"You're free again! You can go wherever you want, whenever you want, and there's not a bloody thing the old toad can do about it!" Tonks laughed with glee, and Remus picked her up and swung her in a circle.

"Yes, I can go wherever I want," Remus echoed, "but I'd rather stay right here."

A sly smile spread across her face. "Right here...?"

Within an hour of the Prophet's delivery to Wizarding homes, a group of Order members and friends of the very happy couple were making their way to Grimmauld Place to celebrate.

Leading a crowd across the unkempt square across the street from the concealed house, Mad-Eye Moody half-listened to the cacaphony of voices behind him.

"...Perhaps the South of France?"

"No, they'd prefer Egypt."

"Ron, just because you're obsessed with mummies and ancient curses doesn't mean it's romantic."

"What would you know about romance, Hermione? I mean, it's not like Godric Gryffindor spent the pages of Hogwarts: A History snogging Helga Hufflepuff."

"Speaking of Gryffindor - for Godric's sake, you two, can you knock it off for five minutes? I'm sick of listening to you bicker!"

"She's got a point, you know. It's right annoying."

"Sod off, Harry."

"Ronald Weasley, you watch your mouth!"

"Sorry, Mum."

"Children, I don't think it's up to you to decide where we send the newlyweds on their honeymoon. I've got the twins pricing vacation packages, and it does look as though the South of France is going to be the best choice, this time of year."

"Arthur...Do you think we could take a second honeymoon?"

"You know, I think that's a splendid idea...Mollywobbles."

"Eurgh," four young voices groaned in unison.

"South of France, dear? Do you mean it, really?"

"We'll send Remus and Tonks on their way, and if the weather's nice, maybe we'll head over for a few days ourselves. I'm not going back to the Ministry till I'm offered a nice raise in pay."

Reaching the hidden Number Twelve, everyone waited for the door to materialize, then headed inside in a great knot, still chattering excitedly.

"We'll just see where they want to go, then we'll go pick up the tickets. It'll be such a nice getaway, after this horrid week - "

Suddenly, Molly's voice was cut off with an "OOF!", as a cloak-covered arm, ending in a very scarred hand, was flung out, stopping her abruptly in her tracks.

Several grunts followed as everyone ran into one another.

"Why'd we stop?" Ron asked.

Mad-Eye was staring in horror down the stairs, at the door leading to the basement kitchen. His remaining teeth were grinding together audibly.

"Isn't Hocus Pocus Holidays around the corner?" Mad-Eye asked in a quiet growl, wrenching his eye from the door.

"Er, yes, I think so. Why?" Arthur queried, trying to peer around Mad-Eye's outstretched arm.

"We'd better go make the reservations first. We'll surprise them with that. Later."

"Won't they be upset if we choose where they're going?" Hermione asked.

"Trust me, lass," Mad-Eye said, whirling around and shoving everyone back out the front door, "They'll be a sight more irritated if we surprise them right now."

THE END