Consequences

Chapter 21: Change

*

And Thursday night rolls around again. It’s been ... how many weeks now? Do you need another drink? Lord knows I do. The warmth of the whisky burns a trail down my throat but does little to warm me. I don’t know how long it’s been since you died ... I should know. But my head hurts too much to work it out. All I know is that I miss you. There are days now where I don’t think about it. But then, Thursday comes again ... And you and I should be playing Snap, and Remus ... I don’t have Remus anymore. But you probably already know that, don’t you?

Makes it worse that I don’t have you either, though. I’m so sorry, Sirius.

I went to Emmeline’s funeral last night. Is she where you are? Had to replace the image in my head with something else. It was nice, it really was. She wore emerald green dress robes. Her very best. She had her hair down; I know you always rather fancied her with her hair down. She looked beautiful, like the old starlets in those black and white films Dad watches. So peaceful. I brought her a lily; don’t know why a lily, but I thought she might like it. I placed it by her hand, said a prayer, and left.

I refill my glass and raise it to the sky in her honour.

It’s starting to rain and I really should go inside. The window is open behind me and I don’t want to soak the floor of my new sitting room. The flat is small but comfortable and I love the view. The hills, Forbidden Forest, the castle in the distance. I can barely see it in the dark, but just knowing it’s there is strangely comforting. Okay, this rain is getting silly. Picking up the glasses and the bottle, I climb from my little perch on the roof back through the window and into my sitting room.

It is quite a nice little flat. In the top of an old mill conversion. I really rather wanted a two bedroom or a proper one bedroom but all that was left was this one and a handful of studios. Actually, I don’t think the landlord was keen on me at first at all. He hummed and haaa-ed and made noises about no vacancy. But upon reading my application, he happened to notice my occupation, and had a sudden change of heart. Not only did he find me the best of his remaining flats, but he also gave me a reduced rate. He said having me here would give his other tenants peace of mind.

Essentially, this is a studio flat with a loft bed. The landlord said loft bedroom but since there’s only room for a double bed and one bedside table, it hardly qualifies in my books. Still, it’s nice; though rather sparsely decorated at the moment. I have several boxes to unpack, things I brought up from my flat in London, but I don’t have much for furniture. Mum and Dad are coming tomorrow to bring me some of their old stuff. Not looking forward to that, actually. Not because I don’t want to see them, but because I haven’t seen them ... I haven’t seen them in weeks and Mum already suspects something is wrong. How she can tell from owls, I do not know. I’d better go to bed. But before I do ... I open the small box nearest to me and rummage for a bit, eventually finding what I’m looking for. A small framed photo. Sirius, Remus and myself – Christmas night last year. Clasping it tightly to my chest, I head up to bed.

Not a real bed yet. Molly lent me a camp bed and a pile of old bedding. I pull on my pyjamas and slip down under the blankets. It smells like Weasley, which is comforting in itself – makes me feel less alone. I rest the frame on my chest and just look at the picture. We’re laughing so hard. Sirius buries his face in my hair and I watch myself flinch and lean into Remus. Watch as his arm around me tightens ... I wonder: does he miss me like I miss him? Does he lie awake at night and wonder where I am, what I’m doing? Does he shut his eyes and pretend I’m in his arms?

Kissing them both in turn, I roll over and place the framed photo on the floor beside my bed. And pick up something else – thin, white, cotton ... I bring his shirt to my face and inhale. God, I miss him. I’ve stopped sleeping in it. I had to. If I continue to sleep in it, it won’t smell like him anymore, and I want it to. For as long as possible. I need it to.

*

Extremely busy morning. It wouldn’t have been had I done much unpacking in the past two days, but of course I didn’t. I did a bit of shopping. Bought new boots, and a lovely jumper, oh, and food – mainly tinned soup. There’s something about cold, rainy days in Scotland that have me craving soup.

Mum and Dad arrived a couple of hours or so ago, and after saying hello and tut-tutting the contents of my kitchen and especially my pantry, Mum disappeared down the shops for about an hour, while Dad and I managed to get the furniture in and arranged. I now have a bed, a small sectional sofa, and a little square table with four chairs. Mum has made tea and bought cakes and I’m doing my very best to pretend that I’m cheerful. But she’s touched my hair twice since she’s been back and I know it’s only a matter of time.

I’ve just made a coffee table out of two upturned boxes and a blanket when she does it again. Her fingers slide slowly through the side of my hair. Straightening up, I turn to face her; she just smiles at me. ‘Darling, why don’t you come and sit down.’

‘How’s work?’ Dad asks me.

‘Busy.’ I smile and feign a bit of a laugh.

‘Surprised that they gave you time off to settle in.’

‘Well, they want us all sorted and rested by the time school starts again.’

‘You don’t look well,’ my mother says bluntly.

‘I know I don’t. But I’ll be all right.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘I haven’t seen your hair brown in ages ...’

I know she wants me to expand on that and I suppose there’s no point in lying about it. They’ll have to know eventually. ‘Yes, well, it doesn’t work anymore.’

‘What?’ Both of them say together.

‘Nymphadora, tell me you’ve been to see a Healer.’

‘I have.’

‘What did they say?’ Dad this time, which surprises me.

‘Well there’s nothing physically wrong. Which is good. And that I’m probably just under too much stress.’ I wrap my hands around the hot mug before me and drink. Pretending. Everything’s all right.

‘I didn’t know stress could do that.’ He looks over at Mum.

‘It can,’ I answer.

‘It would have to be an awful lot of stress.’ My mother sounds rather incredulous. ‘Nymphadora.’

‘I’m all right, Mum, really.’

‘No ... you’re not.’ Her palm is against my forehead, like she’s expecting me to have some sort of fever. I shake my head to get her off, and pick up my coffee again.

‘I’m fine,’ I repeat.

Silence. For a moment I think she may just drop it. But then—

‘It’s not just work, is it?’

‘What makes you think there’s anything else, Mum?’

‘Because, since we’ve been sitting here, you’ve been looking at your father and not at me.’

Damn it.

‘Look at me, Nymphadora.’

Taking a deep breath, I set down my mug, and turn to face my mother.

‘Now tell me it’s just work.’

I hate when she does this. It’s nearly impossible for me to look her in the face and lie and she knows it.

‘It’s just w...’ My gaze falls to the table and her hand comes up under my chin so I have to look at her again. ‘It’s ... All right, I’ve been chucked. Happy now?’

‘No, Darling, of course not.’ Her arm slides around my shoulders and she pulls me closer; I find that I don’t mind much at all. ‘We didn’t even know you were seeing anyone,’ she says.

‘Well, this one sort of snuck up on me.’

Dad smiles and glances over to Mum. ‘The best ones usually do.’

‘But I don’t understand, Darling.’ My mother again. ‘If this was a new relationship, how has it affected you so much?’

‘He and I have been friends for a long time.’

‘Ah.’ Dad squeezes my hand and I look up at him. I know he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do I, and for a long time there is silence.

‘What went wrong?’ my mother asks softly.

I shrug. ‘There are just issues ...’

‘Like what?’

I should have known I wouldn’t get away with that.

I can actually see the coffee in my mug begin to tremble as my hands around the mug shake. I can feel my heart begin to race. I don’t really want to tell them, but at the same time there is part of me that is daring me to. Wanting desperately to prove Remus wrong.

‘He’s a werewolf.’ Funny, I hear myself say it, but it doesn’t sound like me.

I watch the colour drain from my mother’s face and she looks at me openmouthed. ‘A werewolf.’ There’s fear in her voice and I wish there wasn’t. Dad’s just staring.

‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?’

‘Of course it matters. For crying out loud, Nymphadora – a werewolf!’ She’s on her feet now and pacing the floor behind me.

‘Rom, just calm down. Hear what else she has to say.’ Dad half stands; I know he wants Mum to sit again. Dad: the voice of reason. ‘Perhaps he’s a decent chap,’ he continues.

‘There’s no such thing, Teddy.’

I want to scream.

Dad sits down again, taking my hand, squeezing my fingers. He smiles softly at me. ‘When was he bitten?’ he asks me.

‘When he was small ... by Fenrir Greyback.’

My father winces and nods sympathetically; but my mother’s voice is harsh in my ear.

‘So not only is he a werewolf, but uneducated ...’

‘He’s not uneducated, Mother!’ I snap. ‘He’s brilliant.’

‘Where did he go to school?’ My father’s question is calm and curious, so I direct my attention toward him.

‘Hogwarts. He did very well actually.’

‘Hogwarts!’ My mother is incredulous again. ‘You mean to say that Albus Dumbledore knowingly allowed a werewolf to go to that school.’

‘If Dumbledore thought-’

‘Don’t defend him, Teddy. You always defend him.’

‘I’m not. Just be reasonable, Rom.’

‘Reasonable. This is our daughter we’re talking about. And if that man allowed a werewolf to go to school with our child-’

‘He didn’t actually go to school with me.’ I interrupt just to stop them from shouting and do rather regret it when they both turn toward me.

‘Didn’t go to school with you?’ she asks.

‘No. He started the year you finished actually.’

My mother looks slightly relieved. My father, however, does not.

Damn it, I can’t win for losing.

He straightens up. ‘Just how old is this bloke?’

‘Older.’

‘How much older?’

‘Ted, what does it matter? A werewolf.’

‘Of course it matters. How did you meet him? Surely not at work. I didn’t think the Ministry employed-’

‘They don’t,’ I reply sharply. I’m sure he didn’t mean it badly, but he has no idea how much that comment hacks me off. Still, it’s not worth getting into another argument over.

‘How did you meet?’ Mum this time.

I draw a deep breath and look directly at her. ‘He’s Sirius’s best friend. He was ...’

She shuts her eyes briefly at the mention of Sirius. I touch her shoulder and she turns toward me. ‘I want to show you something,’ I find myself saying. A moment later I’m climbing the ladder to my bed and locating the photo wrapped in white cotton on the floor.

When I come back down she is sitting on the sofa; Dad is tending to the fire. I hand her the small frame over her shoulder before slumping to the sofa beside her.

She catches her breath, but a smile does crack her face.

‘So this is him?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve met him,’ she says softly. ‘He was outside your room at St Mungo’s.’

‘Was he?’

She nods. ‘Remus. That’s his name?’

‘Yes.’

She looks up at Dad. ‘Do you remember him, Teddy? He brought us coffee while we waited for word on Nymphadora.’

My father nods, crossing the room slowly to look over Mum’s shoulder at the photo. He nods down at me, but he still doesn’t look too pleased and I know it has nothing to do with any furry little problem. Uphill battle there. He moves back to the fire and stabs at it rather viciously with the poker.

‘A werewolf,’ Mum repeats, but the anger has gone from her voice, and she just sits there holding the picture on her lap. Her thumb brushes gently across Sirius’s face.

Pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa, I draw my knees to my chest, and wrap it around me. ‘Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s over now.’ I can’t look at the photo when I say that.

‘What happened?’ Mum’s soft question catches me off guard.

‘He says I can do better. That he’s too old for me.’ I nod toward Dad who immediately looks away. ‘That he doesn’t want to subject me to the prejudice he faces ...’

Mum nods and bites her lip as she looks down at me.

‘He said that I will lose friends; that I could lose family ...’

Her reaction is immediate. I feel her whole body stiffen. And she turns sharply to me. ‘I would never do that to you. Ever. No matter who you chose. You are my daughter, and that does not come with conditions.’

‘Thank you.’

Her arm slides around me and I rest my head gratefully on her shoulder. I hadn’t realised I was so tired. She kisses my forehead and we both just watch the photo.

‘He does have nice eyes,’ she says after a bit.

‘He does.’ I nod.

‘But he could use a haircut ... and a shave.’

‘His hair is shorter now. And I quite like the scruffy chin.’

Dad, of course, just pretends he’s gone deaf.

*

Seven injured, three dead. The Dark Mark hanging luminous in the sky above Thistlehedge. It’s just a small hamlet; a handful of houses a mile or so north of Hogsmeade. The population of seventeen are mainly elderly witches and wizards – old farm families. But that didn’t stop the Death Eaters swooping down in the night whilst everyone slept, killing the livestock and setting everything ablaze.

They were gone moments later. Before any of us arrived. But it’s taken hours to get the fires under control – I’m not sure what spell they must’ve used. There’s an old man sitting on a large stone over there, beside the remnants of his barn. He’s just in tears. I hate that they do this to our most vulnerable. How dare they.

There’s a storm swirling and a sudden chill in the air, like the hand of death creeping up my spine. Dementors. Dementors in the wood, drawing nearer ... I glance over at Arthur and Bill. Bill nods at me; I know they’ve felt it too. A moment later we’re sprinting toward the forest.

I hate Dementors. Unfortunately, to be most effective, I have to get as many of them as I can get as close as possible.

I hear Bill cast his charm first, and a few minutes later, it’s Arthur’s turn. But I wait. Wait till the screaming in my ears gets louder; heartbeat racing, cold fear. I let it continue for as long as I can, until it threatens to overtake me completely.

‘Expecto Patronum!’

The creature erupts from my wand with such force that it knocks me backward off my feet. What ... And I’m just gobsmacked. That’s not mine ... that can’t be mine ... I scan the wood around me quickly for someone, anyone who could have conjured it. But I appear to be quite alone. All I can to is watch as this large creature bounds at the Dementors in turn, large jaws snapping in the air.

As it turns back toward me I know that it is no ordinary werewolf. It’s a werewolf I recognise. A werewolf I do not fear. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth as it lopes back, its casual gate in stark contrast to its ferocious appearance. It drops to the ground beside me. I reach out my hand to stroke his silvery fur and it vanishes under my fingers. And I just sit there, my hand just inches above the dirt of the forest floor for what seems like the longest time. Then I hear someone clear his throat.

‘Well, that was impressive.’

I look up at Arthur, but I have no idea what to say. He smiles down at me. ‘I take it you’ve never seen that before either?’

I shake my head.

He nods, reaching down, and pulling me to my feet. ‘You all right?’

‘Yes,’ I finally manage, brushing the dirt from my clothes. ‘I think so.’

‘Good.’ We begin to walk back out of the wood, and Arthur rummages through his pockets and hands me something else – his handkerchief.

I must look confused because he has to tell me. ‘You’re crying.’

‘Fuck. Sorry.’ I have to add that quickly, realising I’ve just sworn aloud. I stop and draw my breath, wipe my tears. ‘Thank you.’

He just smiles at me. ‘Come on. I think a drink is in order.’

**

The Three Broomsticks is crowded and noisy; it’s like the whole village has converged on this one location. People come and go, shaking their heads. Fear in so many voices, so many faces. Merchants, farmers, labourors, scholars; everyone has an opinion. Near the fire over there a large group of men and boys have crowded around Davey, the local blacksmith, listening intently to what he has to say on the subject. I wish I could hear from over here. But I only catch snippets of the responses. Sounds like he’s trying to organise community patrols – which, actually, might not be a bad idea.

Arthur sits across from me at the table, setting a steaming jug in front of me; mugs follow. He’s being a dear: telling me everything will be all right in the end and just to give Remus time. I wish I could believe him. I want to so much. A few moments later Bill slides to the bench beside me. Dropping a family size bar of Honeydukes to the table, he proceeds to break it up with what appears to be a small mallet, pushing large pieces to myself and his father.

The chocolate makes me feel a lot better, mostly, I think, due to the fact that I love chocolate. Still I can’t help but wonder about the Patronus. Is the change permanent? Or, next time, will Edgar be back again?

‘Arthur! Arthur!’ We all look up to see a Ministry-type older gentleman waving madly. Arthur smiles and waves back, then excuses himself from our midst. And it’s just me and Bill. I look up at him, but he just stares straight ahead. He doesn’t look well.

‘What’s the matter?’

He shakes his head.

‘Come off it, something’s wrong. You look like shit. And I should know, I’ve been specialising in it recently.’

He chuckles and shakes his head again. ‘S’nothing. I just hate fires.’

‘I hate Dementors.’

‘Them too.’

Picking up another bit of chocolate I take a long sip of my drink. ‘So why do you hate fires?’

‘Long story.’

‘I’ve got time.’

Bill glances at me briefly and downs his whisky in one go. ‘We were staying at my mum’s brother’s house. Don’t remember where Dad was. My uncle wasn’t there at the time either. Same thing happened as tonight. Death Eaters came at about 3 a.m. and burnt the whole village – everything. I remember waking up to thick smoke and orange light and Mum screaming for us to get up and get out. It was right before Ron was born and Mum was having trouble with stairs and things. So she was downstairs and we were all upstairs. The fire was between us; I couldn’t even see her. I got Percy and the twins. She told me to go to the window. She stood outside. I threw Fred then George and then Percy...’ He pauses and stares into the bottom of his empty glass. ‘But ... I couldn’t find Charlie. I searched and searched until my skin started to blister, until I could barely breathe. I couldn’t find him so ...I jumped too. I left him in the fire.’

‘You couldn’t have been more than what... seven?’

He shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. I was in charge. I promised Dad I’d look after them.’

‘But Charlie’s all right. So what happened?’

‘Neighbours came to look after the boys but Mum and I stayed at the fire. There wasn’t much left of the house but a charred shell. Believe it or not Charlie walked out of it. Just as the sun began to rise.’

‘How?’

‘We don’t know and he doesn’t remember. His hair was a bit singed, but I had more burns than he did.’ He shrugs rather heavily and reaches for the whisky bottle. ‘Anyway, that’s why I hate fires.’ He takes another drink and looks down at me. ‘Your go. Got any nasty memories of the last war?’

Unfortunately I do. ‘Mrs Henley. She was an older lady that lived in my parents’ village when I was little. She was a sort of Squib. I say sort of because, although she wasn’t particularly magical, she was very good at potions. Medicines in particular. She was very popular in the village. Her brother was a Death Eater. He’d joined at the beginning. Anyway, she had a cellar underneath her kitchen floor. Suppose it wasn’t really a cellar; it couldn’t have been more than four feet deep. The death squads had gone through our village several times and every time we would hide. But places to hide were getting fewer. One night she hid us in her cellar. Twelve of us crammed into a very small space, three women and nine children. I don’t know how they knew but they came to her house that night. I counted six sets of boots through the slats in the floor above me. Her brother was among them. She refused to give them our location. They tortured her and killed her. I remember trying desperately not to hear it, trying to hear anything else. I remember trying to concentrate on my mother’s heartbeat and realising that she was terrified too. There was nothing we could do. They’d’ve killed us all.’

‘How old were you?’

‘I think I was five.’

Someone beside us clears his throat. Looking up I see three men standing above us. Friends of Bill. He greets them jovially. Two I recognize, but I don’t remember their names. The third ... The third is Christy Byrne. The Hufflepuff chaser. Thick, gold-blonde hair and green eyes ... I will admit to occasionally being one of those girls who would find reason to be at the side of the Black Lake at six o’clock in the morning to watch Christy take his morning swim.

‘Tonks, this is Jason, Christy and Jeremy.’

‘Tonks ...’ Jeremy appears to be thinking hard. ‘You were a couple of years below us in school.’

‘Yes.’

‘She was Charlie’s girlfriend,’ Bill adds.

‘That’s right.’ Christy slides to the bench beside me. Jason and Jeremy sit with Bill.

‘How is Charlie?’ Jason asks.

‘He’s well,’ Bill answers. ‘Still in love with dragons.’

They all have a bit of a laugh.

‘So what do you do now, Tonks?’ Christy smiles at me.

‘She’s an Auror.’ Bill answers for me.

‘Fuck me. Yeah?’

I nod.

‘Cool.’

Christy nudges me with his elbow and points to a rather burly looking man across the pub. ‘So er ... that bloke right there, you could kill him if you wanted to?’

‘No ... Doesn’t quite work that way.’

‘But I thought Aurors could kill people. Prophet said it was reinstated ...’

‘We can. But murdering at random is frowned upon.’

‘What if he tried to kill you ...’ Jeremy asks.

‘Then I could, yes.’

‘Wicked,’ they say together. Makes me laugh.

They are silent for a moment and I watch as they scan the bar. Presumably looking to find someone they can provoke in trying to kill me. Luckily, they seem to come up short. They do, however, spy a group of their friends and soon our table grows by about six more people. Sean, Stephen, Grace, Wil, Marta, Tony.

‘So what were you talking about before we interrupted you?’ One of the newcomers asks; Tony I think.

Christy, Jason and all of them look to me and Bill for that answer.

‘Tonks and I were just discussing who has the saddest war story.’

‘I still got the best one.’ Jeremy grins. ‘No one does sad like I do.’

‘Yeah, you win.’ Bill concurs.

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘War orphan,’ Christy and Bill say together.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

He smiles at me. ‘I was very young and I wasn’t there when it happened. Was with my cousins. I just never saw them again.’

There’s a long silence.

‘See, no one can top that one.’ Jeremy smiles again.

‘I can come pretty close.’ The dark haired boy, Sean, looks down the table at us, his face rather defiant. ‘My mum was killed and my dad’s been in St Mungo’s ever since.’

The girl beside him gasps, and her hand brushes his arm and she leans more onto his shoulder. Every one at the table is about Bill’s age or older and everyone here must have at least one traumatic event in their memory.

‘It was a full moon,’ Sean continues.

As soon as I hear those words I feel my heart drop to my stomach.

‘My mum was coming home from a neighbour’s farm. She had just reached our gate when ... Fucking werewolf; one of Greyback’s lot. Dad came out of the house and grabbed his ax. But he was too late.’ The table falls silent once more. ‘My Dad’s a Squib,’ he adds as if to answer an unasked question.

More silence. Really, what do you say after that?

‘I think you and Jeremy are probably tied,’ Christy pipes up.

‘Yeah.’ Agreement from most of the table, including Jeremy.

‘Fucking werewolves. Ministry should just kill the lot of them,’ the boy called Wil adds.

‘Come on, Wil, not everyone who’s bitten is a Greyback devotee.’ That was Christy and I’m pleased to see that a few others in the group nod in agreement.

‘Yeah, well. Suppose. Kill Greyback’s lot then. Dunno what to do with the others. Lock ‘em up somewhere.’

‘I still say kill them all,’ adds the narrow-faced girl at the end of the table. ‘Then there’s no way it could be spread, could it?’

I’ve had enough of this. They’re still talking but I don’t want to hear anymore. Standing, I pull on my coat and smile at the group I have actually been talking to. I excuse myself with “I have to work in the morning,” and I leave as quickly as I can.

*

It’s a lovely night with a clear sky and I’m grateful for the crisp breeze on my face; it makes it easier to breathe.

‘Tonks! Tonks! Wait!’

I stop in my tracks as Bill runs to catch me up.

‘You all right?’ he asks when he does.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Sorry, about ...’ He jerks his thumb backward toward the bar as we start walking again.

‘S’okay. Understandable, isn’t it? I’d probably feel the same way in his place.’

He nods solemnly and behind his back as we continue to walk.

‘Christy asked me if you were seeing anyone.’

I think this news is meant to cheer me up and surprisingly it does, a bit anyway. Can’t really help but smile a little. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him you had a boyfriend. But, if you like, I can wait a few days and tell him you’ve split up.’

I shake my head. ‘No. Thanks, Bill. Think I’m better on my own.’

He just nods. We walk quietly the rest of the way to my building. I say good night and head up to my little flat.

It’s silent and lonely, but peaceful too, and I make myself a cup of tea, and change into my pyjamas, and climb the stairs to my bed. Sliding my wand under my pillow along with his shirt, I can’t help but think of the werewolf I conjured tonight. What does it mean? Does it signify how much I need him or want him? Does he need me?

Perhaps it shows nothing more than how pathetic I’ve become. But ... I’d like to think Patronuses don’t change for pathetic.

I’m tempted to use the charm again; I even find myself gripping the handle of my wand. But I can’t bring myself to do it. What if it was a one off? What if it doesn’t happen again? What do I do then? What if it does? The whole prospect of never seeing Edgar’s sleek, dark feathers again makes me sad too. We’ve been through a lot together.

Sliding down into my bed, I pull the covers up to my chin and turn my face into the cool cotton of Remus’s shirt.

Things have to get better, don’t they?

~