To See Beyond The Veil

When Blaise awoke in the hospital wing, she was aware of nothing more than her throbbing head and her sheer exhaustion. She rested a moment, content to relax and take in her surroundings. She slept in a narrow bed in a white-walled corner that was sectioned off by a white curtain, veiling her from the rest of the hospital wing. She could see through a small gap between the curtain and the wall, and stared through it intently.

The thick figure of Madam Pomfrey was hovering over a younger student across the wing who appeared to have a broken arm. Madam Pomfrey looked up and made eye contact with Blaise for a second, and the Medi-witch left the other student to bustle to Blaise's bed. "Good afternoon, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. "You've been asleep for about four hours now. How are you feeling?"

Her composure shattered, Blaise couldn't conceal a wince at the woman's perky tone. "Not well," she said resentfully, glaring at Pomfrey. And how the fuck do you think I feel? Stupid bitch, thought Blaise, even as she answered politely.

"Ah," said Madam Pomfrey with her eyebrows raised. "Well, you're quite all right in general-"

"-I'm tired!" It was true, and Blaise had to admit it was an interesting sensation. She'd never been this utterly fatigued in her life. She was so tired that it hurt. Despite a feeble attempt at poise, Blaise's voice sounded hoarse and pathetic, like someone had punched her in the trachea.

"I know, dear," said Madam Pomfrey. Blaise thought that if the woman called her 'dear' one more time, she'd scream. "This is why you'll be in the hospital wing for another night. I'll keep you on sleeping draughts so you can get some rest."

"What happened?" asked Blaise, thinking that she wouldn't need a sleeping draught to sleep well. She started to remember what she had seen in Potions, and then cut her thoughts off as a wave of nausea came over her - spinning visions were never very good for one's upchuck reflexes.

Madam Pomfrey chewed on her lip for a moment, opened her mouth, and closed it again. After a moment, she said, "The headmaster will be in to talk to you about it as soon as I notify him that you're awake."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and Pomfrey hurried back out, drawing the curtain closed behind her. It was that serious? Or does Dumbledore think I was high on something and passed out? Damn, Mum will slaughter me if he tells her that... She gave a small groan and closed her eyes, determined not to think about the incident anymore.

Blaise dozed for about three-quarters of an hour and was reawakened by the sound of the curtain rustling. Instead of opening her eyes, she faked a deep sleep. I'm going to be expelled, she thought, with good reason. She had been caught twice with what had been dubbed as illegal substances and had visited Dumbledore for various other misdemeanors. Each time, her mother had threatened death, and though Blaise knew she didn't mean it, it wouldn't improve their tenuous relationship at all.

"Miss Zabini?"

Blaise didn't respond at first, and the headmaster said again, "Miss Zabini? Unless you've a tendency to go into epileptic fits, you must be awake. I've never seen a sleeping person so tense."

Blaise opened her eyes slowly - no Slytherin in history had ever admitted lying about anything, and Blaise wasn't going to be the first. "Professor Dumbledore," she said curtly, attempting to sound like the regal Slytherin she wasn't - in fact, it sounded rather pitiable in her raspy voice.

"Miss Zabini," said Dumbledore, as he smiled warmly and looked over his half-moon spectacles at her. He was sitting perfectly straight and tall in the upright chair next to Blaise's bed, twiddling his thumbs in his lap.

He doesn't look angry, thought Blaise sluggishly as she stared at him while pretending not to. But he never gets mad - perhaps he's really drunk all the time. No - he walks too evenly to be drunk. Maybe he has Snape whip up some sort of drugged potion for him. Maybe he'd make one for me? And fucking hell...what am I thinking?

By the time Blaise's thoughts played out, she'd grown slightly uncomfortable with the lack of conversation between herself and Dumbledore. His bright blue eyes bored into hers in a way that wasn't unfriendly, but likely had been perfected over a number of years to make students squirm.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Blaise, giving in to him. Nice, Zabini. That sounded bloody brilliant - and you call yourself a Slytherin?

"Yes," said the headmaster. "Blaise, do you recall the circumstances that preceded your arrival in the hospital wing?"

"No," said Blaise brusquely - an easy question, because she didn't remember much.

"You don't remember anything?"

"I just blacked out." Blaise paused for a moment. As she spoke, she was embarrassed to hear her words slur together. To his credit, Dumbledore pretended not to notice. Before the headmaster could say anything else, she came up with an excuse. "I didn't eat breakfast -I was lightheaded." Well, it's not a total lie, she thought. She purposely left out details of what she had seen - generally, hallucinations were not commonplace and certainly incriminating.

Dumbledore still looked blank and unreadable, but Blaise had the distinct feeling that he knew she was leaving something important out of her explanation.

"You didn't see or hear anything unusual?" Dumbledore was obviously grasping at straws, and Blaise felt somewhat smug.

"No," Blaise remembered to answer. Her energy - what little there was of it - was leaving her, and all she really wanted to do was sleep for an eternity.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "If you remember anything at all, Miss Zabini, please don't hesitate to tell me." Blaise's eyes started to close against her will, and finally, she gave up fighting the urge to fall asleep. "Rest well," said the headmaster to Blaise, who didn't hear him, and he left the hospital wing with little more information to ponder on than when he had arrived.

After Blaise was carried out by Professor Snape, the class was quiet for a moment - a short one. Pansy started whispering to Destinie, Harry was shifting uncomfortably and trying not to notice as Nott picked his nose, and Hermione was desperately trying to rally Destinie and Neville's attention (Neville was digging frantically in his satchel for a misplaced quill). Ron leaned over to pick up his Potions text, which had fallen on the floor next to Blaise when she fell.

As he reached for it over the empty part of the bench, his eyes fell on a velvet-clad book, bound securely and locked. That's what Zabini carries around all the time. Probably full of porn. But then, by all means, I'll need to look. Prefect's responsibility. Ron picked up his text, and as he sat up, he grabbed the velvet book. Without looking up (as that would have been very conspicuous, was anyone to watch), he shoved both items into his satchel.

Ron glanced at the clock above the door - the single hand pointed straight up to words which read, "Forty-two minutes left! Back to work, bumbling fools!" Having nothing else to do with the remainder of his time, Ron was about to sneak forward towards the front of the room where Harry was sitting with Pansy when Snape swooped back in.

The professor stopped and glared around at the class; until everyone dropped what they were doing and stared at him. Snape sneered at Hermione and said, "Granger. When I tell you to watch the class, I expect the students to carry on working, not-" he paused, looking at Parvati and Lavender with a disgusted look on his face, "-to draw hearts on a picture of Malfoy."

Ron smirked and Hermione flushed. By now, she had learned that it wasn't worth arguing with Snape, and she remained silent. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. And sit down," he snapped, storming back to his desk, where the stack of papers was still sitting. Hermione walked stoically back to her seat between Neville and Destinie.

That bastard, thought Ron, who had never gotten fully desensitized to Snape's biased personality. And damn it, I should've looked at the papers on his desk... Maybe Hermione knows what they're for.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were kept quite uninformed about the doings of the Order of the Phoenix - they had been promised that the situation was going to change once they were all out of Hogwarts, but it still irked Ron. Fred and George, who had a much lesser sense of responsibility than Ron, knew what was happening in the Order. They knew exactly what large undertaking Snape was currently working on; in fact, each twin had made a point of smugly telling that to Ron on a daily basis over the summer.

Members of the Order had come and gone sporadically through the halls of Grimauld Place that summer, and every time Ron had said goodbye to someone, he'd had to wonder if it would be the last time he'd ever see them.

Just a few months ago, he'd bidden farewell to his brother Charlie, who was going back to Romania to recruit people for the Order. Charlie hadn't been heard from since, which was something terribly unusual for him; he usually wrote about once a week. Ron figured his brother's future was bleak, though he tried to keep up a positive façade and pretend that he wasn't worried. Some nights Ron would lie awake wondering how much it had hurt Sirius to be killed, and if it would hurt as bad if and when he himself was killed.

And to cap it all, someone in the Order was leaking information to the Dark Lord. At least, that's what Fred and George had told Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. Ron was inclined to believe his older brothers when they were looking and acting serious. And angry. Ron couldn't remember the twins ever looking as angry as they had when they Apparated into Harry and Ron's bedroom that night last August...

For a moment Ron shook with emotion, and then, frowning to himself, took the calming breaths Hermione had insisted on teaching him and Harry for anger management purposes - a Muggle technique, called yoga.

"Weasley!" barked Snape.

Ron, who as breathing in through his nose at the moment, snapped to attention, and in the processed exhaled so fast that spit flew all over the desk. He hoped Snape hadn't seen that, unlike Hermione, who was looking quite disgusted.

"Did you forget what you're supposed to be working on? Need I take more points from Gryffindor to remind you...?"

"Sorry, Professor," said Ron listlessly. He lowered his sight to the blank sheet of parchment on his desk. Immediately becoming bored, his head snapped back up and he glanced around the dungeons.

His gaze fell on Neville Longbottom. Having found his quill, Neville was bent over the Potions text from fifth year - he had gotten a D on his O.W.L. for Potions the year before. Due to the fact that Neville wanted desperately to become an Auror and the fact that he'd proven himself in the Department of Mysteries, Dumbledore had "pulled some strings." Ron figured he had threatened Snape, but whatever the outcome, Neville had been given permission to review fifth-year Potions as long as he could meet his sixth-year requirements.

Ron, who had gotten seven O.W.L.s - one, surprisingly, was in Potions - was still unsure what he wanted to do as an adult. If he became an Auror like Harry (six O.W.L.s) wanted to do, he'd forever remain "Potter's Sidekick." If he did anything else, he'd feel like he wasn't helping in the War, and as he was a member of the good side of the Weasley family (not counting Percy)...well...at the very least he'd have a massive complex.

He wasn't in a hurry to decide, though - even Hermione (12 O.W.L.s) didn't know what she was going to do as an adult. In fact, of the Gryffindors, Neville and Harry were the only ones who knew exactly what they wanted to do after Hogwarts. Ron didn't envy them - he knew that choice had been made for both of them before they were old enough to walk.

Ron realized he was beginning to drool, and quickly looked away from Neville to Hermione. By now, she had given up her valiant attempt to rally the attentions of Destinie and Neville and was scribbling furiously by herself. Ron watched her closely for a while, secure in the fact that nobody was noticing him.

Hermione had changed tremendously since the death of Sirius. She didn't pick fights with Ron or give Harry lectures about slacking off on schoolwork anymore - in fact, she was rather aloof. She seemed to be working toward a bigger goal in life, and Ron wasn't altogether sure he liked the change in her.

Hermione looked up at Ron and gave an exasperated smile, rolling her eyes. He grinned and looked back to his (still) blank parchment. Zabini had wanted to make a list of ideas. Ron could manage that in half-an-hour. What could benefit everyone in the world that doesn't already exist? Frowning, he chewed on his lower lip. This is why I'm not an Alchemist, he thought irritably. Maybe...Quidditch enhancement? Penis enlargement? He didn't realize he'd laughed out loud until he saw Hermione glaring at him. What about appearance...like...muscle? A muscle building potion?

Ron began to jot down his ideas until the class finally drew to an end.

As he stuffed his texts into his satchel, Ron tried his hardest not to look conspicuous with Zabini's stolen book, which he hid under the frayed ends of his cloak. Glancing up toward the door, he saw Harry disappearing around the corner into the melee of the hall, and quickly followed him.

Harry and Hermione were waiting just around the corner, ready to head to the Great Hall, as dinner was next - Ron's personal favorite element of the typical Hogwarts day.

"You know who's teaching Defense after Charms tomorrow?" asked Harry by way of greeting. Harry had mellowed a lot since their turbulent fifth year; everyone noticed the change in his demeanor. Even Ron could see that although he was only sixteen, Harry had a resigned look in his eyes that suggested that he had seen too much and that he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I thought it was McGonagall," answered Ron, as they followed behind the rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins up the stairs to the Great Hall on the ground-level. The three of them mechanically slowed down so they were out of the hearing range of the rest of the students ahead of them.

By now, it was common knowledge that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching job was probably jinxed, and as a result, Dumbledore hadn't been able to find anyone willing to teach it. The staff members took turns teaching the class, but most of the students agreed that the regular professors were much better off teaching their assigned classes.

"Can't be," said Hermione impatiently. "Didn't you hear Colin at breakfast? His schedule was changed - he has double Transfiguration tomorrow, and she can't be in two places at once." She readjusted her bulging book-bag on her shoulder, nearly doubled over by its weight, seemingly oblivious to Ron and Harry's dubious looks.

"Really," mused Harry just loudly enough for Ron, who was between him and Hermione, to hear. Ron smirked, knowing Harry was thinking of their third year at Hogwarts.

Hermione gave Harry and Ron a withering look and continued. "It should be Professor Flitwick, shouldn't it? He hasn't taught it yet - and we haven't had Snape either." Ron shuddered at the thought of having Snape two days in a row.

"Ah, but you're forgetting someone," said a familiar voice from behind them.

The three Gryffindors whirled around in surprise. "Tonks?" asked Ron incredulously, a grin spreading on his face.

"Well," said Nymphadora Tonks, suddenly looking concerned, "I thought I'd try new eyes. You don't like it?"

Ron raised an eyebrow and gawked at her - something he was inclined to do whenever he saw Tonks. She was, to say the least, an individual. Her hair was short, pink, and spiked; her eyebrow (also pink) had been pierced, and the irises of her eyes, once purple, were a deep pink. Tonks grinned as their eyes came to rest on her own, revealing the dimples in her cheeks and highlighting her cleft chin.

"Awesome, Tonks," said Ron, smiling. "But you copied me." He pointed to the ring in his eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If that's what you think. But I don't have a mother who's just received my sixth-year class picture... Ron, if I were you, I wouldn't even try to go home."

Ron rolled his eyes, and Hermione took the break in the conversation as a chance to envelop the older woman in a hug. "Tonks," she said seriously, stepping away, "How are you? And what're you doing here?"

Tonks' smile faded a bit, and Ron noticed how pale she was. Tonks had been in the hospital as recently as three days before, still recovering from the injuries she had sustained while trying to track and capture Peter Pettigrew - Wormtail. After being given a false lead, Tonks had, according to Hermione's speculation, probably walked into a trap laid by the Death Eaters. As usual, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had been given no clue as to what was happening; they just remembered the hot, June night that Tonks had been carried through the door of Grimauld Place.

"I'm still going to be fine - pretty whacked, though. Like the Healers said last week, and the week before, and the week before that..." answered Tonks, accentuating her statement with a yawn and a smile. In the silence that followed, all three students glared at her, and Tonks wisely elaborated. "I-I've been put on leave by the ministry for at least eight months-"

"-Because you weren't fighting for them?" asked Harry warily. The Ministry of Magic still despised the fact that Dumbledore had his own legitimate group of followers.

"No, Harry. Because I'm not completely recovered. I'm on leave only because I can't be on active duty. If all's well after eight months, then I retrain for four months, and I'm back in action next year."

"What are you going to do?" asked Hermione, sounding as concerned as any mother would be.

Tonks' grin returned. "Well, yesterday, I was released from St. Mungo's, and about an hour after I got back home, Dumbledore contacted me. He said he needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I was welcome to take the position."

"Wicked!" said Ron loudly after the brief stunned silence, giving Tonks a high-five. "When do you start?"

Her face flushed a bit and clashed horribly with her hair as she grimaced. "Tomorrow. I'm supposed to be formally announced in the Great Hall at dinner, but I can't find the Hall...it's been so long since I was a student here, and I'm sure the damned thing moved! And then Peeves told me to take this one staircase...well - I was stuck in it for fifteen minutes, that then there was that bloody portrait, Sir Cadagram, or something like that. He wanted to fight me, and I tripped and got stuck in the stairs again..."

Harry and Ron shared a look that suggested that neither of them were surprised at Tonks' ability to attract accidents. "Come with us," said Hermione, heading forward toward the main stairwell; the others followed. "So," she said, turning toward Tonks, "Have you got your lessons- Oh, no - it's Malfoy..."

Ron followed Hermione's gaze to where Draco Malfoy was striding directly toward them with his black, designer robes sweeping out behind him. Malfoy's head was down, and he was reading what appeared to be notes for a class. Ron would have taken the time to be vaguely surprised at seeing Malfoy studying, if it weren't for what happened next.

"Drake!" squealed Tonks gleefully, as she made as if to run for Malfoy. She would have reached him, had she not tripped over Harry's unintentionally extended foot and landed belly-down on the stone floor.

Malfoy had glanced up from his notes just as Tonks hit the floor. He saw the three Gryffindors and his face twisted into a look of pure hatred until he looked down and saw Tonks.

"'Dora?" he breathed, both eyebrows raised in surprise and a normally-unseen grin spreading across his face. For a moment, nobody moved except for Tonks, who managed to scramble to her feet.

Ron, who had an arm extended in unaccepted aid, was stunned to see Tonks spread her arms out widely and embrace Malfoy like she'd known him her whole life. The shock he experienced when he saw Malfoy return the embrace, smiling, was something that he felt must be similar to suffering a massive stroke.

"Are you okay?" asked Tonks, letting him go. "Your mum isn't-"

"-I'm fine," answered Malfoy firmly, his face quickly resuming its regular cold expression.

Ron could only presume that Tonks' concern was because Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to receive the Kiss in Azkaban at the beginning of the summer. He was now on what was known as "Soul Row" and Ron didn't know the exact date, but knew it was toward the end of the school-year. Malfoy hadn't said anything to them since term had started about a week ago, and pretty much kept to himself. Ron, who preferred the "new Malfoy," wasn't complaining at all. But why would Tonks, of all people, care how his family is? They're bloody Death Eaters! A glance at Harry and Hermione confirmed that they were just as disgruntled as he was.

Harry looked less than pleased with Tonks, and was about to say something when Tonks suddenly erupted in a fit of racking coughs. She pulled out a handkerchief and held it up to her mouth, her eyes tearing wildly. Hermione started toward Tonks, Ron and Harry didn't know what to do, and Malfoy was making a half-hearted attempt to pat her back.

Tonks held up a hand and managed to gasp out, "'M - fine - hang - on." The coughs subsided and she quickly tucked the handkerchief back into her robes, wiping her streaming eyes with the back of her hand while grinning sheepishly. "Sorry. That happens sometimes - side effect, you know?"

"Side effect of what?" Hermione asked aggressively, forgetting her momentary anger at Tonks' apparent fraternization-with-the-enemy.

"You're bleeding," said Malfoy quietly at the same time.

Ron held in a gasp when he saw Tonks' hand that had held the handkerchief - there was a trail of blood running down the wrist, and she held it up to study it, looking even more uncomfortable. "Er, yes," said Tonks, wiping her hand on her black school robes. "The Healers said that might happen."

She answered Malfoy, not Hermione, mused Ron. What the hell is going on? Could Tonks be the spy? All the blood drained from his face at this thought, and he remembered that they were the only people in this particular corridor. He, Harry, and Hermione were terribly outnumbered and Tonks was a seasoned Auror. It was common knowledge within the Order that there was a traitor in their midst...

"How did you get like this?" asked Malfoy, his voice still just above a whisper. Ron couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Malfoy ask an honest question.

If she tells the truth, thought Ron, one of us has to get out of here to tell Dumbledore. Malfoy can't know what happened to her. He looked sideways at Harry and Hermione, who both looked as if they were thinking the same thing he was.

Tonks answered a bit stiffly, as if she quite obviously thought it was her business alone as to where she had sustained her injuries. "I was clinically dead for eight hours," she answered. "Courtesy of a misguided rendezvous and a bald man wielding a ceramic statue."

Ron didn't take the time to let Tonks continue; he just snapped, "See you," to Tonks, who was trying to say something to him, and stalked off with Harry and Hermione on his heels.

What the fuck is she playing at? She told him what happened! Malfoy's probably already a Death Eater, and even if he's not, injuries in the Order are on a need-to-know basis, damn it! She never even told us what happened! What could possibly have made her tell him?

Ron plowed down a hall to his right so furiously that when Harry grabbed his arm and stopped him, he spun into the wall. "Ron," said Harry quietly and firmly, boring his green eyes into Ron's. Hermione added a placating hand to Ron's shoulder.

"She's - she's the - spy!" spluttered.

Harry looked doubtful, and Hermione added, "Harry, she could be. We ought to tell Dumbledore-"

"-I thought I was paranoid," muttered Harry.

Ron interrupted him. "Harry!" he hissed, "She told him the truth about what happened to her, and she wouldn't even tell us!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron. "Ron. Tonks never told us how she ended up in St. Mungo's last June. How would we know if she were telling the truth?" A look of betrayal crossed Ron's face, covering his embarrassment, which spurred Hermione to roll her eyes. "But Harry," she said truthfully, "She's friends with Malfoy. And that's rather incrim-"

"Of course," said Harry, as if Malfoy and Tonks' friendship was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ron was lost for words, and even Hermione raised an eyebrow. Harry wisely elaborated before Ron regained control of his vocal cords. "Over the summer before fifth year, when S-Sirius and I were cleaning, we found this tapestry of his family tree. Sirius and Narcissa Malfoy are cousins, and Narcissa is Tonks's aunt, so Tonks and Draco are cousins - of course they know each other!"

"Why didn't you tell us?" fumed Ron, quickly jumping in after Harry finished so as not to be interrupted by Hermione, who was glaring at him. "Or why didn't Tonks?"

"Perhaps," said Hermione dryly, "Because they figured you'd react like this." She ignored Ron's attempt at a response and turned to Harry. "So, Harry, Draco is related to Bellatrix Lestrange? All I know is she and Sirius are - were related."

Harry snorted. "Bellatrix and Narcissa are sisters." Hermione's jaw dropped. "Sorry," Harry continued, "I should've told you before, but it just didn't seem important."

Ron rolled his eyes and would have pointed out loudly that he would have told Harry the second he'd figured it out, if it weren't for Hermione, who sighed and said, "Right, then. Draco seems to like Tonks, though. I didn't think he liked anyone." She subtly directed both boys toward the Great Hall, with a placating hand on each of their shoulders.

"That's weird," said Harry, who was walking on Hermione's right. He paused for a moment, and then asked, "How old is Tonks, anyway?"

"Actually," said Hermione thoughtfully, "I don't really know. You know, Ron?"

"No," grumbled Ron, slightly peeved at obviously not being trusted to speak civilly, "But I'm betting she went straight into Auror training after school, so that'd make her eighteen then, right?"

"Yeah," answered Hermione, "So three years of training and she's twenty-one. Didn't she say she'd been working for a year before we met her?"

"I think so," said Harry.

"So she'd be twenty-two or twenty-three now," continued Hermione in the tone of one who was solving a very difficult arithmancy problem. "And you know, I don't remember her saying anything about having a birthday since I've known her."

"I haven't heard anything about one," said Ron. They were at the doors to the Great Hall, and he pulled the left door open and held it for Harry and Hermione. In years past, they had always stopped in the common room before dinner, but as school had just started, they didn't quite have a solid routine yet. Because they were ten minutes earlier than usual, the Great Hall was much quieter. The ceiling was full of dark purple clouds that made Ron grateful he hadn't had Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures that day. They quickly made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down; Ron and Hermione on one side and Harry right across from them.

"Well," said Ron, intent on finding some random criminal act that Tonks was currently committing, "Malfoy's what, sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Sixteen," said Hermione confidently as she handed each of them a crumpet and kept one for herself.

She was unaware of the startled looks Harry and Ron gave her as she went about loading their plates with food until Ron said accusingly, "And just how do you know that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and passed him the salt as the ceiling of the hall rumbled with thunder. "Honestly, Ron. Think about it: if Malfoy's birthday were during the school year, it'd be a Hogwarts holiday. So it has to be over the summer, and therefore, he has to be sixteen."

"Maybe he's stupid, or maybe he started school late, or maybe he keeps his birthday quiet," argued Ron, before Harry cut him off.

"So there's a six or seven year difference between them," said Harry, cleverly diverting a potential argument - something he was quite adept at doing considering Ron and Hermione were prone to argue incessantly. "Why did we need to know this?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "Because if there's a six year difference the odds that they're best friends or are having an affair are diminished-"

"-Ew," observed Ron around a mouthful of stew. "Who'd want to have an affair with him?" Hermione threw a napkin at Ron, who had managed to send a spray of stew around their section of the table.

"Please never let me think about that again," mumbled Harry, who had set down his fork, looking slightly noxious.

Any further conversation was disrupted by the arrival of Ginny, who was soaking wet from the pouring rain outside, and who was accompanied by her current boyfriend, Neville. Ron glared at Neville, who was slightly damp, and thought, Bet he ran outside to meet her. If he touches her, I'm killing him...she's only fifteen! Since Neville and Ginny had announced their relationship, Ron had become startlingly hostile toward Neville.

Ginny was as short as she had been a year before, and still looked fundamentally the same. She smiled at the three of them and sat down next to Harry, who scooted over obligingly; Neville sat down next to Ginny.

She reached for a crumpet and at the same time, said, "Guess what!" Without waiting for a response, she continued. "I was talking to Luna on the way back from Herbology and she said that the new Defense professor is here!"

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged looks, and Harry swallowed his mouthful of food saying, "We know who it is."

He paused for a moment, and Ginny looked annoyed. "Well, who?" she snapped.

"Tonks," said Ron and Hermione together.

"Really?" exclaimed Ginny.

"Isn't she the one with the hair?" asked Neville at the same time.

Hermione nodded at both of them, and there was a strange silence. "What?" said Ginny, looking around at the others. "This is good! She's out of the hospital, she's going to spend the year with us, and she won't be in danger- Well, no more than the rest of us are, anyway."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged more dark looks, and Ginny set her fork down on her plate, looking satisfied at the loud clang it made. "What are you three so upset about?" she asked, her voice shrill but low. More students were in the hall now; the five Gryffindors were accustomed to not letting other students listen in on their conversations, as they didn't discuss "regular" topics.

Hermione sighed and said in a low voice, "We saw Tonks on our way up from Potions. She's on leave for eight months - it's the only reason she's teaching here. Then she started coughing up blood and said that was why she was on leave, and that the Healers had said it was perfectly normal."

"Not to mention the fact," said Ron, soaking up the attention that was immediately his by chewing slowly and keeping his sister in suspense, "that she's apparently friends with Malfoy."

Neville looked accordingly appalled; Ron expected a different response than what he got from Ginny. "Well, that makes sense, doesn't it?" she said, "After all, they are cousins."

"How do you know that?" snapped Ron, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

Ginny looked distinctly startled. "Tonks told me," she said simply.

Ron was about to respond incredulously until Neville changed the subject abruptly. "Hey, Harry?" he asked, leaning forward to look at him.

"Mmm?" Harry responded, his mouth full.

Neville's voice dropped to a whisper as he swept his shaggy, mousy bangs out of his eyes. "Are you still going to hold meetings for the D.A.?"

Ron felt Hermione pull her wand out of her pocket and mutter a quick diversion spell, so that anyone who wanted to listen in or participate in their conversation would remember someone much more interesting to talk to at the other end of the table. When Hermione gave a curt nod to Harry, he answered at a regular speaking volume, "I will, but how many people will still be in it?"

"Me," they all said at once, and grinned at each other. Ron had been surprised that summer when Harry said he still planned to carry on with Dumbledore's Army, but he had been hoping Harry would continue to lead it.

"Really, Harry," said Neville, "Nothing's changed with the D.A. But...maybe..." He drifted off into silence.

"What, Neville?" asked Hermione exasperatedly. She had obviously been trying to get him over the fear of voicing his opinions since the start of term, and as Ron could have told her before she started, she was having a time of it.

"Well, Dumbledore got in trouble because of the name last year, so maybe we should change it," he finished.

Hermione frowned, but nodded grudgingly. "True-"

"-That takes away the point of it!" interrupted Ron. "By now, everybody knows we're not with You-Know-Who or the Ministry, so we have to be with something like the Order-"

"-We could be neutral," said Ginny quietly, but nobody heard her.

"-And the ministry isn't out to get Dumbledore anymore," finished Ron.

"We should talk to him before we start it again, then," said Hermione decidedly.

Harry nodded in agreement, and the others followed suit. "I'll try to talk to McGonagall or Dumbledore tonight," he said. "But I'm going to keep it as quiet as possible. Only she and Dumbledore will know about it."

Hermione nodded in approval. "If you can get it arranged tonight, I can start to schedule meetings - I need to get Quidditch schedules, class schedules, study schedules..."

Ron grinned as she pulled out a small Muggle notebook and began to jot down a list of the things she had to do with a quill. It was so classically "Hermione."

"Hey, Ron," said Neville, still in a quiet tone.

"What?" asked Ron cagily. If he asks me for permission to marry Ginny, I'll spleen him with Hermione's quill...

"Have you heard from Percy since his letter?"

Alright, I wasn't expecting that, thought Ron. But at least it's not a stupid question. Percy had written Ron before he left on the train to Hogwarts and had said he planned to write again soon. Naturally, Ron had passed the letter around to Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville before destroying it. Once again, Percy had been giving him "tips" for completing Hogwarts and becoming a successful businessman. One of the tips involved memory-charming Harry and Hermione so they wouldn't remember they were magical and therefore would not return to Hogwarts.

"No," said Ron bitterly. "And I could do without hearing from that arse for the rest of my life." Ginny sighed, and immediately on the defensive, Ron turned toward her. "I don't see how you can be so forgiving to him." He helped himself to a large portion of Yorkshire pudding. "Didn't you see Mum the day we left?"

"Ron, I know he's changed, but he's still family, right?" said Ginny. "I mean, I still remember him telling me stories about Hogwarts before bed-"

"-About all the exciting adventures he embarked on as 'Perfect Percy the Head Boy?'" finished Ron, who harbored a passionate hatred for his older brother.

Ginny closed her mouth and glared at him. Harry looked up from his plate and said, "Ginny, what he did before we left was horrible, you have to admit." That Harry would comment on it was a sign of how awful Percy's most recent correspondence with the entire Weasley family was - Harry and Hermione had remained pretty neutral about Percy, as they weren't actually family members.

The morning they were leaving for King's Cross, Mrs. Weasley had received a letter from Percy containing a wedding invitation for him and Penelope Clearwater. She'd been ecstatic until Mr. Weasley had to point out that the date and time were left out of the invitation. Both Fred and George had to be physically restrained from charging into the Ministry to throttle Percy.

Ginny nodded halfheartedly and changed the subject immediately. "So, did Tonks say anything about Professor Lupin?"

She and Hermione exchanged a wry smirk that went completely over Ron's head.

Harry, however, picked up on it. "No. Should she have?"

Ginny shrugged carefully, and Hermione said, "She and Lupin were dating for a while. Ginny just wondered if they were still together."

Ron and Harry looked flabbergasted. Neville, however, said, "But isn't he like...thirty years older than she is?"

Ginny shrugged. "Love knows no boundaries."

Ron gave her a piercing look and was about to say that Ginny would do well to learn some boundaries, but Hermione quickly diverted him, saying, "She didn't say anything about Moody, either. And we haven't seen him since the end of last term."

Ron paled. "Moody? He's like...a hundred years older than she is!"

Hermione gave him a contemptuous look. "That's not what I meant, Ron."

"But someone has to have heard from him," said Harry, who did know what Hermione had meant, looking at Neville reassuringly. Everyone knew that Neville was rather attached to Alastor Moody, and nobody wanted to get Neville worked up. That summer, Moody had stuck around Grimauld Place just long enough to get a replacement for his watch over Harry and had left late one night after dinner, heading for some place "cold."

A sudden, uncharacteristic silence spread over the Great Hall, and Ron looked to the front to see Dumbledore standing at his place at the head of the staff table. "Good evening!" he called to the students, some of whom mumbled unenthusiastic replies. "I don't normally address the student body, but tonight merits special circumstances." He left a dramatic pause, in which the entire Hall was silent. "I wish to present Hogwarts' new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Nymphadora Tonks!"

The Hall was so silent that everyone could hear Tonks' combat boots beat on the floor as she pushed through the main doors to walk in. She looked slightly out of breath and relieved. "I bet she just found the Hall," muttered Hermione to Ron. "Maybe we should have shown her the way. Obviously Malfoy didn't."

Students toward the far sides of the Hall actually stood up to get a better look at Tonks, who was striding briskly toward the staff table. Despite his anger with her, Ron grinned - Tonks was by far the coolest adult he knew, and he couldn't wait to get to Defense the next day. On a whim, he glanced at the Slytherin table to where Malfoy was sitting, surrounded by his cronies. He was barely paying attention to Tonks and was obviously far more interested in Pansy Parkinson's low-cut robes. Ron was sorry he'd looked.

Tonks climbed the stairs to the staff table and walked to the empty seat on Dumbledore's left, overlooking the students. As she squeezed past his chair, her right hand nicked a glass of water sitting on the end of the table, and it hit the floor with a bang that was deafening in the silence.

Dumbledore smiled broadly and said something to Tonks that Ron couldn't hear, but Tonks laughed and nodded. She cleared her throat and said with great ease, "Wotcher, everyone!" Nobody replied, or even looked very friendly, but it didn't have an adverse effect on her whatsoever. "I'm T- Well; I guess I'm Professor Tonks. Don't worry; I'm only here until the end of term, so I shouldn't have enough time to scar the majority of you for life." She looked at Dumbledore and added brightly, "Anything else I should say?" The headmaster shrugged and discreetly repaired his water glass. "I guess I'll be seeing all of you by the end of the week...cheers!" Tonks saluted the students and sat down between Dumbledore and Snape.

The conversation ceased for a moment before the Hall erupted anew in conversation. Ginny set her fork down again, but this time she was smiling mischievously. "Guess who I heard from," she said, looking around at the other four.

"Who?" asked Neville obligingly.

"Bill! He owled me this morning, just to tell me about Mum and Dad and what he's been doing - you know, Gringotts, the usual. He leaves again for Egypt next week, but just guess who he's going with!"

They all looked vacant, and Ron griped, "I wish you'd stop with the guessing games."

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. "He's going with Fleur Delacour! She's interning with him, and Dumbledore and Madam Maxime rigged it so they'd get to work together. See, Fleur is with the French division of the Order, so she and Bill can work together for Gringotts and for the Order!"

They all looked surprised, except for Hermione, who looked venomous. Ron remembered that Hermione despised Fleur, and the feeling was quite mutual. "I thought she wanted to teach little children," said Hermione huffily.

"Bill says she decided that Gringotts was fascinating. Apparently he gave her a tour-"

"-I'll bet," said Ron and Harry together.

"-And she found Gringotts much more fascinating. Oh, stop it, you two!" Ginny glowered at Ron and Harry, who were snickering wickedly. She muttered something about "boys" and "immature," gave Neville a kiss on the cheek, and left the Hall.

Shortly after Ginny's abrupt departure, Harry glanced at the Muggle watch he always wore - Hermione had gotten him a new one for his birthday, as his previous one had broken the year before - and announced that it was five-past-eight. This caused Hermione to squeak something about a research project for Muggle Studies and race out of the Great Hall with her satchel trailing behind her.

"Well," said Ron, as he, Harry, and Neville stood up, "Now we know how to get rid of her."

Harry pointed his wand subtly at the barrier around where they had been sitting, and they followed Hermione out of the Hall, idly discussing homework, and Tonks' teaching career. When they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ron said the password (Twillering Toffle) and they all climbed in the portrait hole.

The common room was fairly crowded, and as Harry and Ron's favorite chairs by the fire were occupied by a few seventh-years and Hermione was presumably in the library, they followed Neville up the stairs to their dormitory. Once inside, Neville yawned hugely and said, "I'm going to shower-"

"-I'll try to restrain myself from jumping in with you," said Ron offhandedly as he flopped backwards onto his bed, throwing his satchel on the floor beside it. Dean and Seamus - who acted normal around Harry, though the tension between them was so thick even Ron could sense it - were still at dinner.

Neville left, looking slightly insulted and dragging his pajamas behind him. Ron sat back up and looked at Harry, who was sitting on his own bed. "Care to be beaten at chess?" asked Ron casually, nodding toward his open trunk, where his still-unpacked chess set was begging for his attention.

"By all means," replied Harry with the same miniscule amount of enthusiasm he'd had since the previous Christmas. Ron pulled the set out of his trunk and enlarged the board on the floor in the middle of the dormitory, determinedly pushing concern for Harry out of his mind to wait until morning.

Before long, Ron was lying lazily on his stomach and had beaten Harry three times. He was listening gloatingly to Harry's excuses for letting his king become surrounded by Ron's four queens. "Harry, mate," said Ron bluntly, "You lost. Not just lost, but really lost. Got your arse whipped. You were slaughtered. You were-"

Harry threw a pawn at Ron and stood up, running his hands threw his hair so it stood up all over the place and yawning. "I've got to get up early tomorrow," he said. "Got a procedure due in Herbology first thing and I'm not doing it now." They collected their pieces (Harry's had to be chased down and silenced before they'd go in the box, their argument being that Harry was a disgrace to play for), folded up the board, and climbed into their respective beds.

Before Ron was completely asleep, he remembered Zabini's book. Damn, he thought, turning over and covering his head with a pillow to drown out the sounds of Seamus, Dean, and Neville going to bed, Well, I'll hang on to it for another day and look at it tomorrow night. With one last yawn, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Blaise opened her eyes abruptly, the first conversation she'd heard all day drifting through her curtain. It was dark in the hospital wing, and a glance at the clock beside the bed told her that it was twenty minutes until her midnight dosage of sleep-inducing Dormarest potion.

She'd slept off and on for most of the day, waking up now and again for meals. She'd also decided that of all the adults employed in Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey was her least favorite. She had thought and dreamt of two-hundred-and-sixty-three ways she could kill the woman. If Blaise had her sketchbook, she'd have drawn countless pictures of Pomfrey by now.

But she didn't have her sketchbook, and was therefore in a rage whenever she was awake. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't even let her scribble on a napkin. Blaise had been arrogant, humble, demanding, lenient, polite, rude, and had still not been allowed a single quill. And I don't know where my bloody sketchbook is. It's not in anything I've got here; Pomfrey sent someone to look for it in Snape's classroom, and no one could find it! She could feel the color drain from her face as a chilling thought occurred to her. I wonder if I'd get expelled for that, or if Dumbledore would respect the artistry? Ha.

The conversation outside was easy to hear, and Madam Pomfrey didn't bother to hush the talker up, as Blaise was the only person in the wing overnight. "Damn Muggle chairs to the seventh hell!" cursed a female voice, sounding like a kid with an allergy problem.

"What happened, Nymphadora?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

"Someone put a Muggle office chair in my workroom, and it fell over!" Nymphadora - Blaise noted the strange name and felt no hypocrisy - sounded rather peeved.

"You landed face-first?" asked Madam Pomfrey, startled. "Dear, you've shredded your nose. Here. Drink this, and I'll clean the blood up. I've no idea how you managed to do this one, Nymphadora. I remember cleaning you up when you were in Hogwarts - I had to keep a bed reserved for you..."

"Tonks, please," said Nymphadora, and it took Blaise a moment to realize that she wasn't asking for an object; she was asking to be addressed as Tonks.

That's not a lot better than Nymphadora, she thought, attempting to sit up and taking pleasure in the fact that Pomfrey wasn't around to push her back down or shove more sleeping potion down her throat.

"Ow!" cried Tonks loudly. If Blaise had actually remained asleep, she would have been awake now.

"Shh!" hissed Madam Pomfrey. "There's a student asleep in here!"

"It hurt!" snapped Tonks irritably. Blaise heard a sharp intake of breath, then: "Ooh. That hurt worse - ow..."

"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, "I'm going to let you go back to your quarters tonight, but I think you're going to need some painkiller first. I've realigned your nose, but you might have a bump for good - that was a nasty break. I'll be right back with the painkiller."

Blaise could hear Pomfrey bustle into one of the storerooms, and she heard Tonks' steps toward her curtains. She was quite surprised when Tonks pulled back the curtain and stared in curiously.

That's rude, thought Blaise. Even I wouldn't do that without any reason. "Who're you?" she snapped, forgetting to pretend that she'd been asleep.

"Nymphadora Tonks," said the woman, stepping toward Blaise with a hand outstretched.

Blaise took it and shook it delicately, saying, "Blaise Zabini." Nymphadora Tonks' hand was small and cool to the touch, much like Blaise's hands, which felt clammy.

"I'm the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," said Tonks. "Professor Tonks. What're you in for?"

"I fainted," said Blaise simply. "Will we be working with office chairs, then, as they're so vicious?" She looked up innocently, wondering if the woman would detect the meaning of what she said and perceive it as an insult.

Instead, Tonks gave the last action Blaise had expected - she laughed - and stepped forward a bit. Blaise hadn't been able to see Tonks clearly before, but even in the dark, she could see glowing pink eyes and neon-pink hair rolled into short spikes. What is she? Surely not a full-human - we don't come with pink eyes. She could be an albino. I wish I could see more of her...

"Actually," said Tonks lightly, "You're going to find out rather quickly, I'm afraid, that I'm accident-prone and uncoordinated. Tonight I tipped the chair over backwards and pinched my nose between the back of the chair and the floor."

That was stupid, thought Blaise, but she didn't say it for fear of ruining the relationship before she ever had class with Tonks. "Uh, sounds painful."

Tonks laughed again and said, "Damn straight it was! Er...maybe I can't say that in front of you. Forget I said that. Are you going to be up and about soon?"

"Tomorrow, I think," said Blaise stiffly. She generally disliked people like this Professor Tonks because they were deceptively personable. Blaise liked being detached because it gave her an unbiased perspective on things, and people like Tonks always attempted to break her guard.

"Do you have Defense Against the Dark Arts? They really should shorten that name. 'Defense,' I think, would do nicely-"

"-I have it after lunch," said Blaise.

"Do you know Draco Malfoy?"

Where the hell did that come from? "We're in the same house."

"Slytherin, eh? Rock on! I was in Ravenclaw and dated a guy in Slytherin. He was the coolest person I ever met. 'Course, he was a git and I ended up having to turn him over to Azkaban- I'm getting off track."

This woman is strange, thought Blaise. But I can't wait to see her in the light. Maybe she's...damn. I have no idea. What creature has pink eyes?

"Nymphadora?" called Madam Pomfrey from the other side of the curtain.

Blaise could see Tonks wince. "Tonks, please," she said loudly, and lowering her voice, she turned to Blaise. "Nice meeting you - rest well, and I'll see you tomorrow!"

Before Blaise could say anything in closing, Professor Tonks had backed out and the curtain fell into place, leaving Blaise in impenetrable darkness. Now I do need to sleep, thought Blaise, as she lowered herself back down to the bed. I should've asked her for paper! Or she could've checked the lost and found for my sketchbook, dammit! Whoever has my book is going to wish they'd never been born!

And so, thinking dreamily about horrible tortures she could apply to the keeper of her velvet book, Blaise fell asleep unintentionally. It never even crossed her mind that the person with her sketchbook hadn't looked at it, wasn't planning blackmail, and was Ron Weasley.