Consequences

Chapter 17: Love & Hate

I’ve got bacon, eggs and toast on the go. I’ve even got fried tomatoes and mushrooms and fancy coffee. I am a domestic goddess; only, the kitchen looks like it’s been hit with ‘Bombarda’ . I’m hoping that Remus will stay asleep long enough for me to get it all on the table and do a quick tidy.

I got up early today; my only day off this week. I have to work tonight of course, but not today. I got to the shops and actually bought food. And happily, how odd is that? And, just as happily now, I am making breakfast, real breakfast, for someone else.

It makes me laugh, really, it does. It’s strange the way things change, the way people affect each other. I love my own space, my little flat, my things. Probably the reason I never moved in with Jon, the reason I kept avoiding the issue. Same with Charlie, I suppose. I loved staying with him, or having him stay here, but I was always glad to get back to my own routine. But ... now ... odd ...

I can’t believe it’s been a week; it still feels like the very first night. I love waking up with Remus. I love coming home late at night and finding him in my bed. I love crawling in beside him, love the smell of his skin, love how warm he is, love how he kisses my neck as he rolls over me. It’s perfect and amazing; I can’t imagine what it would be like to be on my own again, can’t remember what it was like before. I still love my own space but I love it more now because he’s in it.

Shit, I’d better butter that toast before it goes cold .

I manage to get the food on the table looking quite nice too, if I do say so myself, before I hear Remus in the sitting room.

‘I smell coffee, and ... bacon?’ comes his voice.

‘Yes, bacon. I’m making you breakfast. Hold on though, don’t come in here yet.’

I turn around and wave my wand frantically at the mess I’ve made. It sorts itself out. Doesn’t look pretty while it does it, but it works. Why is it Mum seems to be able to make everything dance back into place?

It’s not perfect, by any means, but it’s a lot better than it was.

‘Can I come in yet? It smells delicious.’

‘Come on.’

Remus pokes his head around the corner and walks into my kitchen with a big smile.

‘You cooked.’

‘Yes, and don’t sound so shocked.’

He’s showered and dressed and I’m instantly annoyed at myself for making breakfast when I could have been pestering him in the shower. Like I did a couple of mornings ago, like I did ... Damn, distracting myself again ...

‘What are you smiling about?’ he asks, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously.

‘Nothing ... Just you ...’

He grins and I love that he blushes a bit. ‘Come on, let’s eat.’

We sit and get tucked in. It’s actually good so I don’t think I have anything to be embarrassed about, and it’s all still hot, too.

‘So you went to the shops this morning? This is gorgeous by the way,’ he says between mouthfuls of toast.

‘Thank you and yes, I did. Pantry’s full.’

‘Really? And ...err ... no Pot Noodles?’

‘No, I was very good. No boil-in-the-bag stuff either. Fresh fruit and veg ... oh, and those sausages you like.’

‘Do you want those tonight?’

‘Can’t, I’m on Fudge duty tonight, remember? Won’t be home until the wee hours. But I did get you something for dinner.’

‘You did? What?’

‘Steak.’

‘Steak?’ His eyes light up.

‘Yes, nice one too.’

‘I love you,’ he grins, continuing to cram his face full of my breakfast.

I laugh. I know he didn’t mean it in that way, but it still has me feeling all tingly.

We eat the rest of our breakfast in relative silence, just exchanging the occasional smile or look. It’s quite nice actually.

When we’ve finished, I’m about to get up to clear, but he stops me. ‘Sit, finish your coffee, I’ll look after the washing up.’

Remus carries the plates to the sink and sets the washing up in motion; I sit and sip my drink and read the newspaper. Body of Dermott McDougall found in Dartmoor wood.

‘They’ve found McDougall,’ I say, skimming the article.

‘Dead?’

‘Yes.’

Remus just nods, and I don’t elaborate. Nasty death, apparently. Half-eaten.

There is a sudden loud bang on the window. Looking up, I see a rather errant owl rapping on the glass. I lift the latch and let him in, but instead of giving me his letter, he flies to Remus and drops the heavy envelope on the worktop beside him. Remus gives the owl a piece of leftover toast; delighted, it flies off again. Sliding out of my chair, I pick up my coffee and walk over to him. Because ... I’m a nosy parker.

The envelope is thick and orange with the name Lazenby Inc . emblazoned on the back. Who are Lazenby Inc?

‘Publishing house.’ Remus answers my silent question.

‘Ah.’ That’s right, his paper.

He slits the end of the envelope open and pulls out a small folded piece of parchment, reads it slowly, then crumples it up and drops it in the bin. He looks a little crestfallen, really.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugs, tipping the contents of the envelope out onto the worktop: one Galleon, 10 Sickles and four Knuts. That’s it?

‘That’s for the paper you just finished?’ I ask, nudging the lone Galleon with my forefinger. It looks like it’s seen better days.

‘Yes.’ He nods, deliberately ignoring the coins and attending to the washing up instead.

‘But you worked two months on that.’

‘Yes.’ He sweeps the money into his purse and ties the top.

‘That’s not fair! Tabi makes almost five times that and she just writes for a local quarterly, not a proper London firm.’

He says nothing, just shoves it into his pocket.

‘They can’t do that!’ This is ridiculous.

‘They can,’ Remus says slowly, ‘and they will continue to.’ He turns from me and begins to tidy the newspaper on the table.

‘No! You should go down there. You should demand that they pay you the going rate. You should ...’

‘I can’t!’ he snaps, cutting across me, a look of anger and frustration on his face. I’ve seen that look before, usually after long chats with Sirius. But the subject always changes when I walk in the room ... He scrubs his hands over his face and draws a deep breath. ‘I can’t,’ he says, much more calmly. ‘There is a clause in my contract that states I am never to go down to their offices.’ He doesn’t look at me as he puts the newspaper back together.

‘What!’

But Remus just nods.

‘And if I were to go ... If I were to demand anything from them. Well, that could be considered a threat ... and any werewolf that threatens ... I’d be in Azkaban.’

‘That’s not fair,’ I repeat. It’s insane is what it is. How dare ...

‘I’m lucky to find work at all.’ He still won’t look at me.

‘So you’ll just keep doing all that work for the pittance they pay you?’

‘Yes.’ Rapping the newly reassembled paper down on the table, he disappears into the sitting room.

I really don’t know when to shut up, do I?

Slowly, I make my way into the other room. He stands with back to me, his hands resting on the back of the sofa, shoulders hunched, head down. I hate this; hate seeing him like this, so ... defeated. It’s frightening.

‘Remus?’ But he doesn’t answer. I still don’t know what to do, so I slide up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against his back. He doesn’t move; doesn’t react. After several minutes of this, I duck under his arm and move around in front of him where I am far less easy to ignore. He does try for a bit though.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why?’ he asks, glancing down but not quite looking at me. ‘It’s true. No one my age should work for ... scraps.’ There is a bitterness to his voice that I’ve never heard before. ‘Can’t even support myself, let alone ...’ He trails off, still talking to the fireplace rather than me.

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters,’ he says, backing away from me. ‘It matters that I can’t even volunteer without disclosing my condition. It matters that the Ministry allows loopholes so employers don’t have to pay me properly. It matters that shopkeepers either won’t give me the time of day or watch me like a hawk in case I filch something. And it matters that I can’t even afford to take my girlfriend out for a decent fucking meal.’

He slumps down in the chair, his head in his hands, and I slide to the floor in front of him—right up close so that if he looks up at all he has to see me. He doesn’t look though, so I touch him, just the back of his hand, just with my fingertips, just so he knows that I’m here.

‘Girlfriend?’ I whisper, unable to stop the stupid grin. ‘Would that be me?’

He slides his hand to the side of his head and I swear he almost smiles. ‘Course,’ he says softly.

‘Surely, you must realise that any girl who lives on Pot Noodles and caffeine is not much of a foody.’

‘That’s not the point,’ he whispers.

‘I know it’s not.’ I run my fingers into his hair and leave them there until he finally looks at me; until I know he’s listening. ‘ My point is, that you are the most brilliant man I’ve ever met. And it makes me so angry that people treat you this way ...’

He opens his mouth to speak but I press my finger to his lips; he needs to let me finish.

‘It makes me angry, yes,’ I continue. ‘But it doesn’t make me love you any less. And I do love you, Remus.’

He just looks at me, dark eyes burning into my own.

‘I love you,’ I whisper, pulling myself onto my knees, kissing his forehead. His arms slide around me and he rests his head against my chest. His hands move up my back and it’s a few moments before he speaks.

‘I love you,’ he says softly, ‘more than anything.’ He raises his head and looks at me and I believe him.

The feeling of his hand on the back of my neck makes me shiver as he leans forward and kisses me. It’s different somehow; I don’t know how, but it is. Hopeful? That regardless of what happens, I have this, I have him, and we’ll be all right. I can feel the tears slide down my cheeks and I feel rather silly; no one telling me they love me has ever made me cry before. He brushes my tears away and rests his forehead against mine.

‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers with a chuckle, ‘it’s not that bad.’

‘Shut up.’ I kiss him again, and he slides from the chair, guiding me backward to the hearth rug. His kisses trail down my neck as he moves over me.

Can’t think of a better way to spend my afternoon ...

*

Cornelius Fudge is a pillock. There’s really no denying it anymore; they should just make him a tee shirt.

There’s nothing more I wanted to do with my evening than sit on the stone wall in the Fudges’ back garden and watch them host a dinner party. The Hardwicke-Browns are coming, I was told. Apparently, this is supposed to mean something to me aside from rich, bigoted, and pureblood.

Efrem and Minnie are gorging themselves on the second of their four courses at the moment along with their youngest son, Peregrine. Honestly, with family like this it’s surprising that Philippa is as normal as she is. But then, I suppose, they haven’t spoken in years.

Oh, I think Efrem just asked Fudge to pass the potatoes. Perhaps I should jot that down. I am supposed to note any suspicious activity.

This is bollocks. I glance up at the sky in the hopes of chatting with Orion for a bit, but it’s still too cloudy. Hope it doesn’t rain.

There is a sudden crack beside me.

He doesn’t stand much of a chance. My wand tip is on his throat before I even look at his face. Before I see the shortly cropped silver hair and the whiter goatee of the wizard who now towers over me. He grins a friendly grin, brushes my wand aside and says in his thick Scots accent, ‘Not bad, Tonks. Your reflexes are getting better.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘What have I told you about calling me that?’

‘Sorry, Merch. But what—’

‘Am I doing here?’ Merch nods and pulls a smaller wizard out of the shadows behind him.

‘Your lucky night, Tonks. Bailey’s taking over.’

‘What, but I was told an Auror had to be—’

‘If anyone complains, blame me.’ He nods at Singh and Brooks who have just poked their heads around from their respective sides of the house to see who’s just arrived. ‘Three reg force should be fine.’

He pushes a weedy boy with washed-out ginger hair and navy robes against the stone wall. ‘Right,’ he says, instructing the boy. ‘Stay here. Watch through there; make sure no one kills him. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Bailey answers, his voice rather awestruck.

‘Good lad.’ Merch clamps a hand down on his shoulder and turns back to me. ‘Right then, let’s go.’

*

It’s a mess. A nightmare played out before our eyes in the dim twilight. The girders have collapsed. Hundreds of Muggles, hundreds of cars ... on the road way below, or in the churning waters of the river.

‘What the hell—’

‘Death Eaters,’ Merch replies.

‘What do we do?’

‘They can’t be far. They like to watch the mayhem unfold.’

Death Eaters? ‘What about the Muggles?’

‘Leave them. Their rescuers are on the way.’

And then I hear them, the sirens, lots of sirens, crying out in the night. I leave Merch on the east side of the bridge and make my way west. There’s a car, not quite in the water, but the driver’s obviously dead and there’s nothing to be done. There are Muggles everywhere just wandering about, lost in their own nightmare. I’d probably blend in, if it weren’t for my black robes and pink trainers. There are others shouting, trying to help. I look up at what’s left of the bridge deck and watch a large man with a shaved head and numerous tattoos balance on the broken railing above as he pulls a young girl from the wreckage of her parents’ car. I watch him set her on the pavement, watch him take a step back, stumble and fall, fall from the edge of the bridge.

‘Retardo!’

He hits the pavement several yards in front of me and bounces; for a moment I think I may have missed, but then he pulls himself up and scrambles to his feet. He looks at me, but I just turn away, pretend I had nothing to do with it. Sorry, Merch, I couldn’t just let that happen. It’s then I see it—a blue flash in the sky. It’s just brief, but it was definitely there and not far off.

I climb up the hill and over the railway tracks to the steps of an old stone building. An old school house, I think. The windows have long been boarded up, but the boards are broken from the door. I slip between them, into the entrance, and peer from the shadows into the main room. The only light is from the fireplace but it is enough. There are four of them. Death eaters. Circling around a figure on the ground. Stalking around ...

I need to be Disillusioned. Closing my eyes briefly, I shift, darkening everything about my appearance into shades of black and grey. Slowly, I slip into the room, sticking to the shadows.

Four on one is hardly a fair fight. And the wizard on the floor is not fighting back.
At first, I think he’s one of their own, a Death Eater who perhaps wasn’t as efficient tonight as he should have been. But the closer I get ... They spin him on the floor like a top. It reminds me of a Fred and George prank if it weren’t for the growing dark circle on the pale stone floor. Blood. A wizard with chestnut hair and black robes ... Auror robes and ... fuck, it’s Kelly.

‘Pulso!’ They jump at the sound of my voice; but the one with his wand raised is hit full force and thrown off his feet. He won’t be getting up anytime soon.

‘Serensia!’

The curse hits the wall five feet to my right. They obviously can’t see me.

‘Ico! ’ Two down.

But the two that are left level their curses at once.

‘Impedimeta.’

‘Vulnero.’

‘Protego!’ That would have hit me.

‘Pulso.’ Missed me.

‘Petrificus Totalis!’ Got him.

‘Retego!’ That hits me. I shiver at the familiar sensation of cold water. But it does nothing.

‘Petrificus Totalis.’

His arms and legs snap to his sides and he falls face down on the floor.

‘Colligo.’ I bind them all together, set them with an anti-Disapparation charm, and lock them in the small room to the left of the fireplace. I think it was once a toilet; it certainly smells of urine.

Chucking all their wands into the fire, I make my way back to Kelly.

‘Can you move at all?’

‘Tonks?’

‘Yeah.’ I shift back to myself. ‘Can you move at all?’ I repeat.

‘Depends,’ he whispers. ‘Did I just nod my head?’

‘No.’

‘Then ... no.’

He closes his eyes briefly, swearing under his breath, and I try and locate the source of the bleeding. There is more than one bloody tear in his robes. His shoulder, arm, side, probably somewhere on his back. Everywhere.

I feel sick.

I’ve been here before. Only a different place, a different friend ...

He shuts his eyes again. And I watch a drop of blood slide from his lower lip. So red on pale skin ...

Oh God, please don’t die on me, Kel. Please, please, please, please, please.

‘Expelliarmus!’

Noooooooooo! My wand goes clattering across the stone floor. I leap over Kelly in a desperate attempt to retrieve it.

‘Flagellum!’

Fuck that hurts! It cuts across the backs of my legs, bringing me to my knees as the dark, hooded figure strides across the floor toward me.

‘Flagellum!’

This time it hits across my back, my shoulders. And it stings like mad.

‘Accio wand.’

And I watch as my wand glides up in a graceful arch from its resting spot on the floor into his waiting palm.

I’m in the shit.

He’s standing over me now and, after studying his boots for a moment, I look up into the callous face of a hooded Death Eater. He is older, with grey-brown hair and thick brows. I know him from somewhere and, from the look on his face, he knows me.

‘Well, well, what do we have here?’ he asks in an amused sort of voice. ‘If it isn’t the Ministry’s littlest Auror. And without her wand. Pity.’

‘Terrible shame, really. You wouldn’t mind giving it back, would you?’ Remarkably, my voice remains steady and nonchalant.

‘Not a problem.’ He snaps my wand in two over his knee and chucks the pieces on the floor in front of me.

Fucking bastard.

‘You leave me with a conundrum, Miss Tonks. Do I kill you here, or take you back with me and let your aunt deal with you.’

‘Friend of my aunt’s, are you?’

‘Admirer, more like. She’s a brilliant witch.’

‘Really? ‘Cos I’ve always thought psychotic bitch myself.’

‘Crucio!’

Fuck! And suddenly everything is burning, searing, stabbing, pounding. I can’t breathe, can’t see. There’s nothing but this. There never will be anything but this. Like someone is trying to force me to turn inside out with a jagged blade, or trying to burn my flesh from bone. I hear screaming before I realise it’s me. Please ... make it stop ...

Then it does stop and my head is pounding. I can hear blood rushing in my ears. It takes me a few moments to catch my breath, to refocus. He lets me sit up, lets me get to my knees and then try and stand. I have one foot firmly planted when ...

‘Flagellum!’

It cuts me across my side, my back, and spins me to the floor again. I look around desperately for something, anything, that could be of help. Where’s Kelly’s wand? But then I see it, a few yards to the left of him, in pieces. All the furniture is against the walls. There’s a fire in the hearth. If I had Floo powder ... but I don’t, and it wouldn’t help Kelly anyway. The fireplace tools are scattered about the floor, but all I can see is a dustpan and brush and I don’t think those are of much use.

‘Flagellum!’

Fuck! Straight up my side.

And then he’s standing over me again. I know what’s coming even before he raises his wand. I brace myself for it, but it doesn’t help. What does Kingsley say? Find a happy place...

‘Crucio!’

But there are no happy places ... And I just want it to stop, just want the darkness to take over and everything to go blank. I just want to die.

Please just let me die.

It stops again, and I’m still alive, the cold, wet stone floor against my face. And I hate myself for crying, but it hurts so fucking much.

Then his foot is on my side and he kicks me over onto my back. His boot comes down heavily on my chest. It’s hard enough to breathe already.

‘Know your place, you filthy little half-breed!’ he seethes. He steps down harder; I think he’s going to break my ribs ...

And his wand is above his head again.

‘Please don’t ...’

‘Crucio,’ he says in a slow, deliberate tone.

Nooooo!

But there’s another voice too, hoarse and desperate. ‘Stop it!’

It stops. The room comes slowly into focus. I see Kelly, he’s managed to lift himself a bit; he’s almost on his elbow. Just shut up, pretend you’re dead. With a final boot from his heel to my ribs, the Death Eater turns to Kelly.

‘Aren’t you dead yet?’

‘Leave her alone.’

’Isn’t this touching,’ he sneers. ‘So near death, yet so noble. You might want to ask yourself, is this little thing worth it? This little Muggle-loving whore. Just like her mother...’

And then I know who he is, where I’ve seen him before. He’s in a photo, at my parents’ house. A photo of my mother’s from school. He played Quidditch with her.

‘ ... or should we just see how much of a whore she really is?’ Missed the beginning of that sentence, but I don’t think I needed to hear to know what he means by that.

‘Leave her alone,’ Kelly repeats.

‘Shut up, Kel.’ Really don’t want ...

The Death Eater looks at me, and flicks his wand toward Kelly. ‘Vulnero.’ Kelly’s head falls back to the floor with a sickening thud.

I see his chest rise and fall heavily. ‘I could kill him now.’ The Death Eater is talking to me. ‘Or ...’ He slides his boot to the side of Kelly’s face and pushes Kelly’s head in my direction. ‘Perhaps I’ll just leave him to watch.’

I move backward instinctively. What ... There’s something hard, under my leg as I sit up, something iron. Ah, the poker.

I try and look as small and scared as possible as I crawl further back onto the warm hearthstone, covering the iron poker with my cloak, wrapping my fingers around its shaft. He seems to like this look and I watch his tongue run over his upper lip as he approaches.

‘Leave her ...’ Another desperate plea from Kelly. The Death Eater’s attention is drawn, and I seize my opportunity, propelling myself forward with everything I have.

I feel the resistance as the spike meets his body just under his breastbone. Then the release as it breaks through the skin and sinks in. Sinks in to where my hands grip the iron. Sliding them down the rod and gripping it again, I drive it further upward. I hate the sound it makes; the noise he makes. I hear his wand hit the floor. I move my hands again. It’s harder to grip this time. Everything's wet. Oily. But I push as hard as I can. Until I meet with resistance again. Until I’m sure he won’t fight back. With a final shove, I push him backwards to the floor. And then he’s on the ground, the end of the poker sticking out of him. There’s blood everywhere. Pooling around him on the floor. All down my front. All over my hands. Wiping them on my robes, I retrieve his wand and stride to the window, sending a signal through a crack in the boards. A signal I know Merch will see. Satisfied, I drop to my knees beside Kelly.

‘Can you move yet?’

‘If I could fucking move do you honestly think ...’

‘Sorry. You okay to Apparate?’

‘Don’t much care to hang around here. Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. Can you hang onto me?’ I slide to the floor beside him.

He nods. ‘Think so. Ever done a side along like this, Tonks?’

‘No.’

And then we are in St Mungo’s and the lights are bright; makes my eyes water. It’s so noisy; there are people rushing all around. Then Healers and assistants everywhere and Kelly’s desperate grip is pulled from mine. They take him away. They want me to lie down, too; I don’t need to lie down. I’m fine. But somehow I end up in a little white room anyway, being poked and prodded by a short, squat, elderly Healer, who obviously has no time for the Ministry.

‘How long did they use the Cruciatus curse for?’

It’s a bit creepy when they do that. I haven’t actually told him what happened. ‘Don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘Can’t remember.’

Giving me a snort of disbelief, he turns and begins to measure things into a cauldron. A few moments later he offers me a steaming goblet. ‘Drink this,’ he says firmly.

I do as I’m told. It’s actually nice. Tastes like peppermint hot chocolate.

‘Can I go now?’ I ask, handing the empty goblet back to him.

‘No. I’d like you to stay overnight for observation.’

‘I can’t. I’m still on duty.’

He shakes his head despairingly. ‘Do you at least have someone who can watch you tonight? You shouldn’t be alone.’

‘I won’t be.’

He nods, though I don’t think he believes me. He turns back to the tray of potions on the table, levelling ingredients into a blue bottle, corking it, giving it a shake, and sticking a little label carefully around it. ‘Here.’ He hands it to me. ‘Take half of it before you go to bed tonight, preferably, with food, and the other half in the morning. Now you might get some bleeding from your ears and perhaps some chills later tonight. That’s normal with these kinds of injuries, but if the bleeding is profuse or if you start vomiting I want you back here immediately. And no shifting. Do you understand?’

I didn’t tell him the Metamorphmagus thing either. Creepy.

‘Yes, sir.’ I add the ‘sir’ because I think he wants me to. He does seem to perk up a bit. He mixes and labels three more bottles for me. One for the aforementioned ear bleeding—lovely—and a couple of good painkillers.

He slips all the bottles into a brown paper bag and hands it to me. As if to drive the point home further he adds, ‘You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead. Good night, Miss Tonks.’

He’s only been gone a moment when a young witch sticks her head in the door. ‘Miss Tonks?’

‘Yes?’

‘There’s a Callum McMerchant to see you.’

I nod and Merch pushes the door open and enters the room.

‘All right, lass?’

‘Yes.’

He tosses a package onto the bed beside me.

‘What’s this?’

‘Clean robes, your spare wand. I had Maggie fetch them from your locker.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Just checked on Declan.’

Declan ... oh right. It takes me a moment; I never use Kelly’s first name.

‘How is he?’

‘It was touch and go for a bit, but they think he’ll be all right. He’s told me what happened.’

I nod. ‘Did you find them all?’

‘There were four locked in the loo, and the dead one?’

‘He is dead, then?’

‘Oh yes.’ Merch nods solemnly, watching me closely.

‘Oh.’ Was really rather hoping I hadn’t actually killed him.

‘You did well, Tonks.’

‘But ... I.’

‘Self-defence. No one’s going to question you on that. And from what Declan tells me there was no other option.’

‘I know, but ...’

‘Do you have a boyfriend, Tonks?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then I’d say go home, shag him senseless, and forget about it.’

He nods and turns to go.

‘Merch?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you ever get used to it?’

He shakes his head. ‘Hope not.’

*

Don’t know what the hell time it is. Don’t really care either; just know that I’m ridiculously sore and exhausted. It may only be five steps to the front door of the St George but they seem steeper and larger than normal. I push the front door open and make my way down the corridor to the pub-room. I’m surprised to find it full. Arthur is talking to Mundungus a few feet from the door as I enter. Bill leans against the bar, his ear pressed to the wireless. Professor McGonagall, Molly, Agnetha, Emmeline and Dedalus crowd onto the little settee and chairs around the fire. Even Snape sits at his little table in the corner. Moody and Kingsley stand on the opposite side of the bar talking rather heatedly out of earshot.

Where’s Remus?

Hanging my cloak on the hook, I slip further into the room. ‘Wotcher, Arthur, Dung.’

‘Good evening, Tonks.’

‘Where’s Remus?’ I ask, suddenly needing to know. Shouldn’t he be here?

‘Dumbledore wanted to speak to him, but he should be back soon.’

Dumbledore? But then, it really shouldn’t surprise me.

‘So, ‘ave you ‘ad as interesting a nigh’ as the rest of us?’ Dung asks. I watch Bill move from the bar and walk over to us.

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘There was an attack on a witch in Fife earlier tonight,’ Arthur begins, ‘and another on a family in Merseyside. And ...’

‘Then the Brockdale bridge collapsed—seventy-seven Muggles are dead, at last count,’ Bill adds.

That many?

‘And ...’ Bill continues. He stops, and glances round at his father.

‘Amelia Bones is dead,’ Arthur says solemnly.

‘What?’ I look up at him; it’s got to be some sort of mistake.

‘They found her a couple of hours ago.’

‘What?’ I know I’m being repetitive, but ...

‘She’s dead,’ he repeats. ‘They think it was You-Know-W... Voldemort himself. That everything that’s happened tonight ... that is was planned so that ...’

‘All those Muggles died ... as a distraction?’ The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.

‘We really don’t know yet.’

‘Where the hell have you been?’ It’s Kinglsey’s voice, and I turn to find him striding across the room toward me. ‘You’re supposed to be guarding Fudge!‘

‘I was. Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine. But where the hell were you?’

‘I was reassigned.’

‘On who’s authority?’

‘Merch,’ I reply. Kingsley looks rather disappointed—I think he was quite looking forward to shouting at someone, and unfortunately, Merch is senior and not someone he is allowed to shout at. ‘I was at the Brockdale Bridge.’

Kingsley nods. Bill just stares at me; he’s probably been listening to the Muggle news reports.

‘You look like hell.’ George’s voice seems to pull me back to reality. He’s just walked in with Fred carrying jugs of something or other, and a tray of sandwiches.

‘What? Oh ...’

‘George!’ his mother scolds.

‘Well, she does.’ George grins, setting his tray down on the table beside the steaming jugs. ‘Well, maybe not like hell ... just ...’

‘Why’s your hair brown?’ Fred adds.

Is it? My hand instantly goes to my hair, giving myself away a bit. ‘I’m just really tired.’ This is mostly true, and it’s an easier explanation than, “I spent too much time with a sadistic Death Eater.”

‘Is this better?’

I shift it back to my usual colour. It makes my headache boom.

Probably shouldn’t have done that. What did the Healer say? Right, no shifting.

I feel sick. Not just nauseous, but dizzy and ...

‘Tonks ...’ Arthur this time. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ I manage, grabbing hold of Fred’s arm to steady myself. ‘Just a bit dizzy.’

‘Tonks?’ Fred this time.

‘I’m fine.’

He obviously doesn’t believe me.

A moment later, I’m being steered toward the settee. He slides to the seat beside me; the concern on his face ... gawd, he looks like Charlie ...

‘I’m fine.’ I’m lying, I actually feel as though I’ve been run over by the Knight Bus and then had it back up a few times. But I’d rather not explain that.

Moody and Kingsley are suddenly in front of me, and then they’re all crowding around.

‘What?’ Why is everyone staring at me?

‘How long was it used?’ Moody asks gruffly.

‘What?’ Please Mad-Eye, not here, not in front of everyone. ‘I’m okay.’

His hand brushes the side of my face, over my ear to my neck. When he withdraws, it is covered in blood.

He holds his hand up in front of me, as if to prove me wrong.

‘Put your head back.’

Fuck ... knew I shouldn’t have changed my hair.

Soon Molly is on the other side of me, a warm flannel pressed against my ear.

‘Have you been to St Mungo’s?’ Kingsley asks, taking centre position before me now.

‘Yes.’

‘What did they give you?’

‘It’s in my cloak,’ I say, trying to gesture toward where it hangs by the door.

‘George,’ Moody calls. George leaps off the back of the settee where he’s been sitting and heads for the cloak stand. Then he’s handing the brown bag to Mad-Eye. I can hear the little bottles clinking together.

‘Keep your head back,’ Kingsley scolds, and a few moments later, Molly lifts the cloth and I feel the cool liquid drop into my ear; it tingles and makes me shiver.

‘How long was it used?’ Moody asks again. ‘And how many times?’

‘Don’t know. I can’t remember. Three times, I think.’ I really don’t remember. It’s just all a rather nasty blur.

‘What was used?’ Fred’s voice.

‘Cruciatus,’ comes Mad-Eye’s response.

I hear Molly draw a sharp breath.

‘What?’ comes another voice, a voice I have been waiting all night to hear; I just wish he hadn’t chosen that precise moment to walk in. I turn my head to see Remus standing behind the settee.

‘Keep your head still, girl.’ Mad-Eye again.

‘What’s happened?’ Remus asks again. I can’t see his face but I recognise the panic in his voice.

‘Someone used Cruciatus on Tonks,’ George explains.

‘I’m fine,’ I insist before Remus can even ask the question. I wish they would just all shut up now.

Fred is suddenly gone from beside me and Remus is there instead, his fingers brushing through my hair. ‘What happened?’ he asks.

‘We were hoping Nymphadora would enlighten us herself.’ McGonagall this time.

Drawing my breath I sit up properly and take the flannel from Molly. I think the bleeding has stopped now. Remus’s hand slips into mine, and he squeezes my fingers.

‘They ambushed Kelly in that old school house near the railway,’ I begin. ‘I ... When I got there ... they were killing him. Four of them ... I took them by surprise, locked them in another room, then I went to see what I could do for Kelly.’

‘Then what ...’ Kingsley asks.

But I don’t really want to say. I can feel the tears burn behind my eyes and I blink furiously to keep them at bay.

‘Then what?’ Remus’s voice this time, soft in my ear; steadying my nerves.

‘I thought I’d got them all.’ I look up at Kingsley, apologetic.

He says nothing, just nods.

‘There was a fifth, he hit me from behind. Disarmed me and broke my wand. It happened then.’

‘Where’s Kelly?’

‘He’s in St. Mungo’s. He’s not well, but they think he’ll be all right.’

Kingsley nods again. ‘And you’re sitting in front of me ... So ... what about the Death Eater?’

Steeling my gaze, I look directly at Kingsley. ‘I killed him.’

Kingsley does react. ‘How?’ he asks.

‘With the poker from the fireplace.’

Silence. They’re all just staring blankly at me again.

All but Mad-eye; Mad-eye has a rather mad grin on his face. ‘Good girl,’ he says, seemingly impressed.

Funny, I don’t feel very “good”. However, the grin on his face makes me smile just the same.

‘Well done,’ Kingsley adds. ‘I look forward to reading your report tomorrow.’

I hate reports.

‘Was it just Cruciatus?’ Kingsley is reading the labels on the other potions bottles as he slips them back into the bag.

‘No,’ I admit, ‘but that was the worst one.’

He nods and folds the top of the bag, but instead of handing the bag back to me, he hands it to Remus.

Remus slides his arm around my shoulders, kisses my temple and I lean my head against his shoulder. ‘Can we go home now?’

*

I had every intention of staying at Headquarters tonight, but when it came down to it I’d much rather be here. Be curled up in my own bed, with a man who’s fed me all my potions and, well ... nearly a whole packet of Jammie Dodgers.

He slides into bed beside me and I push the rest of the biscuit into my mouth and drop the rest of the packet on the bedside table. I slide down to the pillow and soon he is beside me with his arms around me, his chin resting against my forehead ... Perfect.

I run my hands up his chest and begin to undo the buttons on his pyjamas.

‘Xena ...’ His warm breath against my ear makes me shiver.

‘Yes, Remus,’ I reply.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Bit slow, aren’t you?’ I look up at him and smile as I undo the next one.

‘Humour me.’

‘I’m undoing the buttons on your pyjamas.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because, like most sensible girls, I prefer my Remus J. Lupin without them.’

‘Your Remus Lupin?’ He raises an eyebrow at me.

‘Yes,’ I reply, feeling him shiver as I slide my hands into his top. I glance briefly up at his face and then watch my hand slide over his chest. ‘Mine.’ I feel his hand in my hair, on the back of my neck; his embrace tightens around me and I kiss him, sliding my hand down over his hip, pulling myself closer, letting him know what I want.

He’s shaking his head. ‘You’re hurt.’

‘I know,’ I whisper, ‘and I need you.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You won’t. I’m all hopped up on potions, remember?’

He chuckles and I kiss his neck.

‘Would you like me to say please?’ I ask.

‘No ... Yes.’

I slide my hand down into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, brushing my fingers over his erection. I’m always surprised how hot he is. ‘Please.’

‘Well, since you asked so nicely ...’

A moment later he’s smiling above me and my nightdress is nowhere in sight. I don’t quite know what happened to it, or his pyjamas, for that matter.

I run both hands through his hair, pull him down and kiss him softly. ‘I love you,’ I whisper.

‘I love you, too.’ His smile gets wider.

‘Do you?’

‘Yes. Very much.’ He nuzzles my neck and sends shivers through me as his stubble scrapes my skin. I love his stubble, and his scruffy hair, the sound of his voice, the smell of his skin, the way he kisses, the way he’s touching me, and ... everything. Every little thing.

His hands move over my breasts and his lips soon follow. Feathery kisses. Soft, but deliberate; designed to make my back arch and my breathing audible. I twist my fingers into his hair. He moves up to kiss my lips and I take the opportunity, sliding my hand across his belly and stroking my fingers down the length of his arousal.

He moans against my ear and it gives me gooseflesh. ‘I love you,’ he whispers.

I can’t help but giggle. ‘I know.’

Wrapping my legs over the backs of his thighs, I slide my hand down his shaft once more and guide him in. His teeth scrape my neck, and his moan is low and guttural and ... I love that sound. He sinks slowly into me. So slowly ... my eyes close, and I concentrate on feeling every inch of him. He kisses me again and lays his body over mine. Complete contact, I love that, love feeling the weight of his body, skin against skin ... I wish I were taller, so that when we lie together like this, I could kiss his lips. I’d consider making the change, but ... then it wouldn’t be the same, would it? So I content myself with kissing his collarbone, his chest, his shoulder.

His body never rises from mine. His movements are slow and deep and ...he’s being so careful, so gentle, so amazing ...

He shifts the angle of his hips and suddenly I swear, I see stars. Every stroke is electricity, the thrill charging through me. How the hell does he do that? My hands slide up his back, fingers digging into his flesh as I feel the tension within me rising rapidly. He picks up the pace ever so slightly and soon it’s all too much. I find myself gripping his hips to halt his movement, and calling his name to the room. He dips his head down and kisses my face; waits patiently for me to finish.

He begins his exquisite movements again, and I look up at him, watch him bite his top lip, watch the beads of sweat form on his brow. He won’t last much longer. I slide my hands over his backside, exaggerate the movement of my hips against his, nipping his shoulder with my teeth. His breathing quickens, his muscles tighten and ... He roars.

I. Love. That. Sound.

He rains kisses down the side of my face as he leaves me, sliding back to the mattress.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

He chuckles and settles down beside me and I turn to wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder as he pulls the blankets around us. I’m so tired I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes open. Either the events of the day or the potions taking their final toll. Hellish day ...

‘What did Dumbledore want to speak to you about?’ I ask. I’d almost forgotten about that.

‘Just something he needs me to do.’

‘What?’

‘It’s complicated. We’ll talk about it later. You need to sleep.’

He’s right, I do.

*