Consequences

Chapter 27: Phases

'So what happened?'

'Well, I got a bollocking, didn't I?'

'Merch?' Bill motions toward the last derelict slice of pizza in the box on the table and I shake my head; I've had enough.

Rather wish it had been Merch.

'Merch was unavailable. So … after Dawlish tore a strip off me, I got Kingsley.'

Bill makes a face through his bite of pizza. 'He knows though, doesn't he?' he asks, not bothering to swallow first.

I nod.

'And he wasn't sympathetic at all?'

'Far from it. Dereliction of duty. I abandoned my post, didn't I? Even if it was only for the last hour of my shift. I did escape the suspension but I think that has more to do with the fact that we're so short at the moment. I did not, however, escape the fine.'

'How much?'

'Fifty Galleons.' Makes me wince to say it aloud.

'Ouch.' He downs his glass and fills both our glasses again.

'Yeah, so I'm a little short this month.' Bill pushes my glass back across the table to me. I pick it up slowly and return to my near prostrate position on the settee. Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a long sip—McDonal's, and … it's disgusting but somehow it seems to suit the mood of the room tonight and I take another drink. 'Be all right though,' I continue. 'Not as if I have any time to go anywhere or do anything anymore anyway. Either at work, or with the Order, or when I do get a night off… Well, I'm hanging about here, aren't I?' I raise a half-hearted glass at the grim, old drawing room with its peeling paper and musty furniture. 'Haven't saved so much in my life.'

'So you haven't been out with Christy again recently?'

The bluntness of his question catches me a bit off guard. How does he know?

At this Charlie sits up. He's been half-asleep hearthside for the past hour and I'd almost forgotten he was in the room. 'Christy … Christy Byrne?' he asks, scrubbing a hand over his face. But I choose to answer Bill's question first.

'No. Hardly been out with him at all. We've—'

'Christy 'Wanker' Byrne?' Charlie interrupts. 'What are you doing out with him?'

'Definitive study of Hogwarts Quidditch captains?' I reply. Bill laughs. 'Thought I'd try the one from my own house.' Charlie still looks less than impressed, so I relent and offer him a bit more of an explanation. 'He asked me to the St Valentine's dance in Hogsmeade. And everyone's been telling me I should go out. So I did. Then last week I ran into him at the Three Broomsticks and we ended up having dinner. So we've been out. But we're not dating or anything. I'm afraid dating is a bit beyond me at the moment. Can't do that...' I don't really mean to add the last bit but it slips out anyway. I take another drink. The room falls silent and I congratulate myself for effectively killing the conversation.

Collecting himself from the floor, Charlie picks up his glass and the bottle and staggers over to the settee, smacking me on the bottom so I move my legs enough for him to sit down. He refills the glass and drops the near empty bottle on the table with a hollow thump; I let my legs fall into his lap. We sit in silence for a few minutes longer and I shut my eyes as I feel Charlie's hand slide up and down from my knee to my ankle. 'Remus is a idiot,' he says simply after a time. I open one eye and Bill makes a face. 'Don't get me wrong, nice enough bloke and all that,' Charlie continues, 'but idiot none the less.'

Bill shakes his head. 'He thinks he's doing the right thing.'

'Bollocks.' Charlie downs his shot in one go and gives Bill a bit of a challenging look.

'Charlie, he's a werewolf.'

'When last I checked being a werewolf did not give you the right to behave like an arse.' Charlie exchanges his glass for the bottle and polishes off the rest.

'I'd say it gives you a pretty damn good excuse. He believes it's for the best and while we may not—'

'As I said—bollocks. If he truly believed that, he'd stay away from her; but he doesn't stay away, does he, Nymph?'

I really don't want to answer that. So I shut my eyes again, examining the little balls of light that play across my eyelids and pretend I haven't heard him.

'Doesn't…oh…' I hear Bill's voice as he catches Charlie's meaning. I can feel his eyes on me but I still refuse to open mine. 'Sorry.' Bill's voice again. And again silence.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Six little replicas of the overhead light …

'Must be so hard for him. He's loved you for ages.' Bill's voice breaks the quiet of the room. 'I can't imagine—'

Bill's words do not make me feel better. In fact, tears begin to rise in my throat and I have to make an effort to push them back down again. Whisky helps though…

'Wish you'd told me,' Bill continues, in a tone that actually makes me feel guilty I hadn't, 'last month… I wouldn't have left you with him if I'd known …'

Charlie shifts uncomfortably. I know why; I've not yet told him about that night and I know he's going to want to know. Couldn't tell him unless I faltered the next time I saw Remus. It's been easy though. I haven't seen Remus. Not since that night.

With a conscious effort to quell the rapidly building tension, I roll over onto my back, down the rest of my drink and fix my gaze on Charlie making sure to smile. 'S'all right, I asked him to leave.'

'Really?' comes Bill's response.

'Yes, really.' Don't sound so surprised.

But Charlie smiles as he nods at me. And I can't help but feel a bit better about myself because of it.

'So what are you going to do?' Bill asks.

'I dunno.' I shrug and draw my knees up. ‘What can I do? Tried just not giving a damn anymore but that didn't work very well.' Charlie squeezes my knee and I can't help but smile. 'Are we out of whisky?'

'Course not.' Bill gets to his feet and runs both hands through his hair, shaking his head; no ponytail tonight and his long hair falls about messily. 'There's at least one more bottle down in the kitchen. Might not be of the same quality as McDonal's though.' He grins at Charlie as he says it.

'Thank God,' Charlie quips.

He's right, it can't possibly be worse.

'Want anything else while I'm down there?' Bill asks, blowing stray hair out of his face.

I shake my head. 'Don't think so. Not for me, anyway.'

'There any pie?' Charlie asks.

'Don't know. I'll check.' With that Bill disappears and Charlie and I are alone.

'So what did happen that night? Sorry, I was drifting off there. I didn't catch all of it.'

I draw a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on the arm of the chair instead of Charlie. 'Dawlish and I were on patrol when word reached us: There had been a werewolf attack—that Greyback had attacked someone and his victim was not expected to live. I guess I just panicked. I made some rash excuse that I had to go. I didn't wait for permission or even a response; I just left.'

'Where did you go?'

'Went to find Dumbledore. But he wasn't there. Looked for McGonagall but I couldn't find her either. So I went back to Hogsmeade. Snape was in the Hog's Head. He told me that Greyback's victim was five years old and that he'd died not ten minutes before.'

I get the last part out as quickly as I can in an effort not to have to think about what I'm saying. But it's no use; I immediately feel tears sting my eyes and I wipe them as quickly as I can, hoping Charlie just won't notice. But he does. Of course he does; he notices everything.

'Hey, none of that.'

'Sorry. It's just … A five year old boy was killed and … my first reaction … my first reaction… I was happy.' I shut my eyes and press my head hard against the back of the settee. 'God, what kind of cow am I?'

'You're not.' Charlie's fingertips brush my forehead and I open my eyes again as his fingers move through my hair. 'It's called relief, Nymph, and no one can fault you for that.'

'But a little boy—'

'I know.' He nods. 'It's horrendous.' He shifts back into the corner of the settee and holds and arm out to me. 'Come here.' And I do; curling up beside him, resting my head against his chest and letting his arm fall heavily across my shoulders. He kisses my forehead. 'Things like that just shouldn't happen. But … I know relief is what I'd feel too if it could have been someone I loved. Don't judge yourself so harshly.'

So I shut my eyes again and try not to. But it's hard not to … when I think about everything—

'Frightening, all of it, isn't it?' I shift a little and look up at him. What's he talking about?

'All of it,' he continues. 'What some people are capable of. That they can hate like that. Scares the hell out of me, you know, that this is war and you're an Auror.'

'I'm not bad at it.'

'I know but you're right there; it's what you do. If I lost you—'

'I'll try my hardest not to be lost,' I tease. He smiles at me and kisses my head again and I slide my fingers through his. 'Scares me that this is war and you're a dragon … ologist thingy-type-person.' What exactly is his job title anyway?

Charlie shrugs and chuckles, tightening his embrace to the point where I can barely breathe. 'Dunno, Death Eaters and dragons aren't so different. Just stay out of their way and throw as many stunning spells as you can. Is dragonologist even a word?'

'I think so.'

'Hmmm … I rather like it. Now …' He summons the tissue box from the mantel. 'Please stop crying, or Bill'll—'

'What did you do?' Bill's voice from the doorway right on cue.

'Nothing.' Charlie insists. 'We were just having a chat.'

'She was fine when I left. Five minutes with you and—'

'He did nothing.' I wipe the remainder of my tears with my palms. 'It's just me, really.'

Bill still looks sceptical.

'Really,' I repeat. He finally nods, handing Charlie the foil-covered tin and the fork he's been carrying.

'Cheers. What kind is it?' Charlie asks, taking it from him.

'Chicken,' Bill responds.

'Oh. I was rather hoping for apple, but,' Charlie shrugs, 'suppose this'll do.'

'So what were you discussing?' Bill asks, removing the whisky bottle from his coat. Cathcart's; must belong to Remus.

'You know, the usual cheery stuff. War, death, Remus …'

I resettle myself at Charlie's side. I do it mainly so he'll stop spilling crumbs on my shoulder, but he seems to read more into it than that.

'Don't worry, sweetheart, he'll pull his head out one day. He just better hope you still want him by then.'

'Give him a break, Charlie.' Bill drops down to the armchair and opens the new bottle.

Charlie shrugs. 'I'm just saying—if we're all dead tomorrow, what's he going to regret more, the time he spent with her or the time he didn't?'

'You're just a ray of sunshine, aren't you? All dead tomorrow…' Bill pushes our newly replenished glasses back across the table at us.

'I'm realistic.'

'Pessimistic,' Bill fires back.

'Call it what you like. But if it were you, what would you do? Would you chuck Fleur and head for some cave in the hills to wallow in self-pity or would you try and make the best of things?'

'That's not fair. I would never even endeavour to imagine what it must be like to be Remus.'

'I'm not asking you to. I'm asking, what if it were you? Would you break your engagement? Would you leave? How do you think Fleur'd feel about that?'

'Dunno. Don't know that I could do it. Even if I wanted to.'

'That's just it.' Charlie leans back seemingly satisfied. 'I don't think Remus can either. Know I couldn't.' There's something in his tone there that causes me to sit up, to turn and look at him. How did he mean that? But he just gives me that good-natured grin and pulls me back against him again. So I just down my drink and enjoy the company and try not to think too much.

**

She's been missing for nearly two weeks, Yardley Bornemouth's youngest daughter, Beatrice. He's head of the Muggle liaison office and he and his wife are more than a little worried. There have been rumours of a growing backlash toward anyone who associates with Muggles or who champions their rights. Mind, Beatrice Bornemouth is a bit of a … well … she's a very social girl, lets put it that way. At nineteen she's already caused more than a bit of trouble for her father; but she's never been gone this long before.

She was last seen in the company of a group of young people, both Muggle and wizard, at an open-air concert near Reading. She claimed that she would be home before her 1:00 a.m. curfew, but no one has seen her since. Interviews with her friends, even some of those with her that night, have all come up short. We do know that she was looking forward to a large party that is set to go tonight just outside Edinburgh-Craigmiller Castle, to be precise.

As soon as I heard the location I knew what they were asking me to do, that this was no ordinary gathering; they could send a reg force officer to it if it were. No, this party is hosted by Fenrir Greyback. I feigned ignorance as Merch explained it all to me. Nodding as he gave me a run down of what to expect—what has been reported at similar such events on the continent. I also know this assignment comes courtesy of Kingsley, but whether he's doing me a favour or teaching me a lesson, I'm not sure.

I look again in the mirror at the blonde girl with the too-tight leather skirt and the equally constricting top. Her name is Sarah Dempsey; she's an old friend of Beatrice. And is helping us with the search. I twirl her two-tone hair in one finger and snap my bubble gum loudly. Polyjuice Potion is fucking disgusting. I have no idea how anyone can tolerate taking it more than once in a lifetime. Yet I know several people in my department who take it on a semi-regular basis. I swirl the liquid in the crystal flask at my hip. It came out a dullish blue so I've added a bit of Freyberry extract for colour and now it's a rather nice shade of lavender. Adds a nice touch to the otherwise black outfit. All I need to do now is put on the boots. Knee-high leather boots that make me about four inches taller. C.F.M. boots, as Tabi calls them.

Not that I'll be putting them to good use tonight, even if Remus is there. I have a job to do and besides, I'm not going to be … I'm worth more than that.

*

I received my invitation on Thursday from an amicable young man, Kevin, in an Edinburgh pub. We knew he'd be there. Knew he was recruiting young people, mainly women for Greyback's lot. He was rather successful and I met up with several others tonight at a café in the village and rode up to the castle. All nine of us, in Kevin's Reliant Robin. We park on the road along with countless other vehicles and make our way past the Muggle gift shop and up to the castle. Great torches are lit on the turrets, music blaring into the darkness, the smell—like some giant barbecue. Kevin leads the six girls and two boys up to the castle. They hum and ha and say it's dark and wonder where the party is. But then they're Muggles and they won't see or hear any of it until we're inside. So I look around and pretend to be oblivious as he leads us up to the castle.

And inside—the girl on my left gasps in surprise as we enter and I nearly do the same thing myself. It's amazing. The trees that now grow within the castle walls are laden with fairy lights of every colour. Great polished table tops are heavy with food and drink. There are animal skins on the floors and over ancient furniture. Fires burn hot in the massive hearths. It's like stepping back in time. It's bloody Valhalla.

Only with more snogging than I'd imagine Norse warriors to be having. And definitely more sex. That's exactly what those couples in the far corner are doing. Not so discretely, either. Lovely, Kingsley, thank you. Everyone appears to be gravitating toward the drinks table and I follow suit. A moment later a large goblet of sweet-smelling cider is pushed into my hands from somewhere. Taking a step back, I glance around the space hoping to spot Bornemouth's daughter straight away. But no such luck. I take a sip of my drink and everything changes slightly. It takes me a moment to realise it. The air becomes a bit thicker, a bit warmer, and I draw deeper breaths. Interesting … I take another drink to make sure I'm right, ignoring the little voice in my head singing about curiosity and the cat. My skin prickles and I feel slightly nauseous but there's something else too; a strange electricity slips slowly through me. I've felt it before. It's subtle but there. But I can't be certain whether it is the drink or the company.

Clutching the goblet tightly, I move through the crowd of people. Music floods in from the adjoining room and, slipping through the doorway, I find myself on a small, rather crowded dance floor. Stars spin and sparkle in the enchanted sky above. It's darker in here and I have to squint to see properly as I wind my way through the tightly packed bodies. Gawd, it's hot. I manage to get across to the other side of the room with the minimum of propositions and only a few hands on my arse. But there's no sign of Beatrice. Standing on one of the many stone benches that line the walls, I try and get a better view, but still nothing. Absently, I take another sip of my drink and immediately wish I hadn't. It's hard enough to breathe in here anyway and I'm more than a little nauseous now. I think I need some air, and I need to get rid of this drink.

There is another doorway off to my left and I make my way slowly toward it, hoping for a place where I can at least put the drink down and pretend to forget about it. But the next room warrants no such place; it's smaller with several snogging couples and a very average man trying desperately to chat up a very pretty girl. I pass only inches from them and from what I can hear he's not doing well. I move through and to yet another small room. This one is, luckily, empty, brightly lit and unfurnished except for a small stone bench on the south wall. Why is it so bright in here? Ah, it's because the moon is visible in here. Waxing moon, a beacon bright and ominous in the pitch-dark sky. You can't see it from the other rooms; their ceilings are all enchanted. Wonder why?

Slumping down on the little bench, I set my drink on the floor under it and let my head fall back against the wall. Deep breaths. What the hell is in this drink? Why am I so dizzy? Glad I haven't eaten anything yet. I'd most certainly be sick.

My train of thought is suddenly broken by the appearance of a tall black man in the doorway.

'Hello,' he says smiling.

'Hi.' Where do I know him from? Can't quite place him.

'Don't you like the party?'

'I do.' I nod. 'Just need some air. Not feeling very well, actually.'

'Dizzy?'

'Yeah.'

'Sorry about that.' He sits down beside me. 'My fault.'

'Your fault?' What's he on about?

'Yes, my fault.' His hand is on my shoulder; his touch makes my skin prickle. Werewolf. 'I'm afraid I poured you the wrong drink,' he continues, pointing to the goblet on the floor at my feet. 'Cider's for the Muggle girls and well, you're no Muggle.'

'Never claimed to be.' If there's a point to this conversation, I'd like him to get to it.

'But the people you came in with …'

I grin at him. 'Guilt by association, is it??'

'Suppose, sorry.'

'S'all right.'

'Actually,' he chuckles, 'I'm not that good at telling on a good day.'

'So what gave me away?'

'You found this room, for a start.'

'I'm not supposed to be in here?'

'There's a Muggle repelling charm on this room. They think it's a foul smelling loo.'

'Ah. But why bother; it's just a little room.'

'They want all the Muggles contained in the main areas. You can only enchant so many ceilings.'

'So blocking the moon is deliberate?'

'Just a safety precaution. Can't really have any Muggles getting hurt.'

'What about witches?'

'Well, you have wands. And besides, most witches that come here have some idea of what they're getting themselves into.'

'What I'm getting myself into…You mean the reason why I'm fighting the urge to put my hand on your knee at the moment?'

He laughs.

I am only joking. For the most part … the thought has crossed my mind.

'Never fight that urge.' He sounds like he's joking but I note he does move closer.

'So, what do you do … erm… sorry, I don't know your name.' Let's try and change the subject, shall we?

'Daragh,' he replies, offering me his hand. 'Daragh Smith.'

That's who he is! I shake his hand politely. He was a year above me in school. Ravenclaw. We endured years of Flitwick raving on about how frickin' wonderful Daragh Smith was. He never came back for seventh year, though. Rumour was he had met with an accident.

'So what do you do?' I ask again.

'I'm an Auror,' he answers.

'Auror? Really? And you're here?' Trying hard to keep a straight face.

'Well … It's all very secret …' He doesn't really expect me to fall for this?

'Yet you're telling me?'

He stumbles. 'Erm … well …'

'You're a terrible liar, you know that?'

He looks rather bewildered for a moment but then smiles and laughs.

'Yeah, well … I would've been one.'

'Now that I believe.' I unclip the bottle from my hip, popping the cork and taking another drink of the foul liquid. Have to pretend it's good.

'What's that?' he asks as I clip it back on my hip.

'Freyberry,' I reply.

'Freyberry?' He doesn't believe me.

'And Blackthorn,' I add, hoping that would be enough.

'That's illegal.' Suddenly he sounds all worried. It's rather funny.

'So's this party.'

'Yeah, suppose it is.' He takes another sip of his drink and smiles at me again. 'Ever been to one of these before? Sorry, I didn't catch your name either.'

'Sarah Dempsey,' I reply. 'And no, I haven't.'

'I have,' he says, taking another sip of his drink, 'in Avignon last year.'

'Was it like this?'

'Carbon copy.' He sounds a little bitter. 'So what brought you to this one?'

'I'm supposed to meet a friend. But she's not here. She's been telling me how fab a party it was going to be for ages and then she doesn't show.'

'What's her name?'

'Beatrice Bornemouth.'

'Ah, Bea. Yeah, odd that she's not here, isn't it? She's not usually one to miss a good time.'

'Perhaps her mum and dad are keeping her in,' I suggest. 'If they are she's going to be livid.'

'Perils of living with the parental units.' He laughs. 'Ah well, glad you came.' His hand is on my knee now. 'And since Bea's not here, would you let me keep you company this evening?'

'I'd like that.' That's the polite response, isn't it? Would actually like very much to be alone. 'She might still come though,' I add.

'She had better hurry up, then.' He checks his watch. 'It's half one. They stop letting people in at two.'

'Why?' I hadn't expected that and I find myself on my feet again, needing to put some distance between us.

'That's when the party really begins.' He grins at me getting up and follows me across the room. 'Don't look so worried. I'll look after you.'

Why am I not reassured?

'So, Sarah,' he says, his voice somewhat lighter as if it's him trying to change the subject now. 'What do you do?' He stalks closer still to me and I find myself backing further away with every step.

He finally stops and I draw a deep breath and decide to pretend that all this doesn't really bother me. 'Are you familiar with Harrow Street in Folkestone?' There, breezy voice. I'm all right.

'No.' He shakes his head.

'I work in Miggins Bakery. You should come by some time. My funnel cakes are famous.' What the fuck am I talking about? And what's a funnel cake anyway?

But he's not really listening so it doesn't matter. His fingertips brush against my lower jaw. I step back from him again … And that would be the wall behind me. Nowhere else to go. He closes the space between us further. I can feel the heat of his breath on my face, of his body against this one of mine. He reeks of alcohol and … Gawd, I've got to get out of here. But how do I do that without giving too much away? His hand slips from my waist up over my breast, his lips brush my ear and I feel my whole body tense.

'Just relax,' he whispers.

But that is one thing I will not do. I've got to keep talking.

'You're a werewolf.' Good one, Nymphadora; point out the blatantly obvious.

'Yes,' he replies, his lips still against my ear. 'Does that scare you?'

'No.' I answer truthfully. 'But my answer may change tomorrow.'

He chuckles. 'You'd be a fool if it didn't.'

'I …' But I can't for the life of me think of anything else. 'I don't …' I look up at him, squinting in the bright light of the waxing moon over his shoulder. It's right above us now.

He smiles at me. 'Just relax. Let yourself go. It doesn't matter here. Nothing matters. Let it happen.' His breath in my ear makes me shiver but I can't, I won't, do as he asks. His hand slides across the side of my face; his kiss is desperate, his hand hard on the back of my neck. Cold stone behind my head. And I let him kiss me. Not worth blowing everything for the sake of a kiss. But then his thigh comes up firmly between my legs and he presses me back against the wall with the weight of his body. My breath catches in my throat.

'Daragh.'

But he ignores me. His kisses trail down the side of my neck.

'Daragh.' He kisses my mouth again presumably to shut me up. His hands slide down my arms, fingers encircling around my wrists—my chest tightens immediately, like I'm suffocating. No! I try and pull my arms from his grip but he's suddenly a hell of a lot stronger. His fingers tighten. He can't do this. This can't happen. I manage to flick my wrist, to grasp the handle of my wand.

And then he's gone; the sound of breaking glass and he's thrown backward. My Polyjuice flask now shines up at me; a million little pieces shimmering in the moonlight across the stone floor. And Daragh, he's also on the floor, against the opposite wall. Did I do that? But no, I didn't …

We're not alone anymore. Two wizards have joined us—one is older with long, greying black hair; the other is Remus. And I can't say I'm not happy to see him.

It's Remus who now stands over Daragh, wand in hand.

'I claimed her when she walked in.' He seethes down at the young man on the floor.

'Claimed me?' But I might as well be invisible for all the notice they take. What did he claim her for?

'I didn't actually think you were serious.' Daragh scrambles to his feet, rubbing his head.

'Do you think I'm serious now?'

'A bit. It's just that she is … and you are …' Daragh seems to change his mind about what could probably only have been an insult. 'She's not a Muggle,' he adds rather desperately.

'Precisely why I chose her,' Remus replies flatly. 'If you were a little more astute you'd have realised that a lot sooner.'

'At least there are a few of you who won't touch the Muggles.' The dark haired man finally speaks. 'Though this one—' He sneers down at me. 'Revolting, the way these young witches dress—like Muggle whores. Do they have no self respect?'

His fingers slip down my neck, flipping open another button on my top, exposing my skin to the night-chilled air. I look up at him. It suddenly dawns on me who this man is. I've never seen him this close. He's my uncle. Rodolphus LeStrange. So werewolves are not the only ones drawn to these events. Death Eaters come too.

He seems to catch himself, his fingertips still touching me. He withdraws his hand sharply and turns away.

'She's all yours, werewolf. Make good use of her; teach her a lesson.' With that he leaves, pausing only briefly in the doorway to add, 'And you can tell Fenrir I got sick of waiting.'

Daragh doesn't seem to know what to do. He looks from Remus to me and back again, then with a rather apologetic shrug, he follows the path Rodolphus has just taken.

Silence. Remus takes a step toward me and I look up at him… What did he mean 'claimed her when she walked in' ? He can't possibly—

But he seizes my wrist and pulls me back through the door and then down a passage and through another smaller door. It’s a staircase and I nearly trip going down. But soon I find myself standing in a small round room with no ceiling, but walls that seem to reach up to the sky. There is a large, raised, round pool in the centre enclosed by an iron Muggle fence—the castle well. The moon above reflects off the water, sending a shimmering, eerie grey light around the room. The noise of the party rises up all around us. Hanging the torch on the wall, he releases his grip on my wrist without looking at me. He shuts the door, checks the walls and the floor, and casts an Imperturbable Charm before even acknowledging that I am in the room at all. There is definite anger in his face when he finally does turn to me. So close I feel the need to step back against the railing.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Come again?’ It’s probably best to play ignorant. But he doesn’t back down. His expression doesn’t change; instead he grips the railing on either side of my head. His knuckles are white as he leans into me, his words breathy in my ear.

‘You can’t fool me, Nymphadora. I know you, no matter what face you wear.’

It makes me shiver. How does he know? But I can’t seem to ask the question. He’s far too close to me; I feel all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve felt it before— this strange sensation that tells me to run and at once keeps me rooted to the spot. I need to touch him. But instead I slip my hands behind me and lean back against them, pressing them into the cold, hard surface of the concrete at my back.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I throw my gaze down to his navel; don’t know why I said that. I know he’s caught me. Perhaps I just need to see him doubt himself. But he remains steadfast.

‘Coming here … you could have jeopardised everything.’

‘I’ve jeopardised nothing.’ I look up at him now, annoyed at the tone he is taking, like I’m some sort of petulant child. ‘And the Order know I’m here. Mad-Eye asked that I make sure you were alive. He hasn’t heard from you in six weeks.’

‘You shouldn’t’ve come, especially not tonight. If you really needed to see—’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Remus. I’m not here for you.’

He looks a little taken aback and for that I’m glad. Ducking under his arm, I move to the opposite side of the well—literally shaking my shoulders to try and rid myself of this feeling.

‘Why are you here, then?’

‘I’m working.’

‘Really? So that’s what you were doing upstairs just now, working?’ His tone is more than angry now; it’s accusatory.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Running my hands through my hair, I find myself turning in a circle trying to gather my thoughts. ‘If you must know, I—’ But why should I? So I shake my head. ‘No. No, I don’t have to explain myself to you. You have no right to be angry. You don’t want me! Or have you forgotten how many times you’ve told me that.’

‘I’ve never told you that. I’ve only—’

‘Don’t.’ I’m shaking my head again, backing away from him as he approaches. ‘Don’t.’ The exact wording doesn’t matter to me when the result is the same.

He stops short a few feet away. ‘You’re right,’ he says curtly. ‘I shouldn’t care who you’re with, whether it’s the boy upstairs or that fireman you seem so fond of.’

What?

My heart drops so heavily into the pit of my stomach it almost makes my knees buckle. I feel guilty. I hate that I feel guilty!

‘What?’ I manage to say out loud.

‘Ah, you didn’t think I knew about that, did you? The fireman you were with the night your street burnt. The same man you were kissing outside your flat on Valentine’s Day.’

What’s he trying to do to me?

‘Were you following me?’ I have to ask.

‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘The night of the fire I just wanted to make sure you were all right. And well, I happened on the other by chance. Date perhaps? Or were you working that night as well?’

There can be no mistaking what he means by that.

‘Fuck off, Remus.’

He just stares at me stone-faced. My chest is immediately tight and I wish I hadn’t said that to him, but he—

‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ I repeat. ‘You’re the one who wanted this. You want me to move on. You want me to consider other people. It’s none of your business anymore what I do.’

He turns and walks away from me now, back toward the door as if there’s nothing more to say. As if he has every right to call me a slag and leave it there.

‘You—it’s what you want, isn’t it? If I’d fucked him right there in the doorway you’d probably have been thrilled; it would have justified your pathetic need for self-loathing!’

He stops short of the doorway and turns back to me, his face red and furious. His hand comes down hard against the heavy wooden door. ‘I don’t—’ he bellows but his words die instantly at the sound of voices in the passageway above.

For a moment we just stare at each other, barely breathing. They can’t possibly have heard us. But …

‘Your hair’s brown again, you might want to fix that.’ He barely looks at me as he says it; his voice is still cold, still seething.

‘Shit.’ My hands immediately fly to my hair. The curls are gone; it’s short. One quick glance in the pool beside me tells me it’s not just the hair. Everything is slipping back. The clothing that was once so tight is fast becoming far too big.

I hear Remus mutter ‘Colloportus’ and hear the door seal itself.

‘Fix it.’ He turns back to me, his voice coming harshly again. But I can do nothing but stare back at him.

‘I can’t, Remus. It’s Polyjuice.’

His face falls immediately and he gives me a look—somewhere between surprise and sorrow. I can’t help but feel defensive.

‘Take it again, then,’ he says, more softly this time.

‘The bottle broke … upstairs, remember? I’ll have to Apparate.’

But he’s shaking his head again. ‘No. Greyback set the charms himself. You can only Apparate before the main entrance. Less prying eyes that way.’

‘What—’ The voices are getting closer, coming down the stairs now. I can’t be caught here.

‘Fix it.’ His tone is more desperate than angry now.

‘I can’t.’

‘Tonks.’

‘I can’t!’ What part of that doesn’t he understand!

‘Try!’

Gripping the railing with both hands, I shut my eyes and concentrate as best I can. I am immediately dizzy and all at once hot and cold but I manage to remain on my feet. I tighten my grip and draw a deep breath before opening my eyes again. When I do, I’m more than a little surprised to see the blonde girl looking back at me from the water. It worked! Gawd, I feel sick; so dizzy now I daren’t let go of the railing. They’re outside the door. Remus crosses the floor in an instant and all choice is taken from me. He spins me around to face him, his lips crash down on mine, his hands are rough on my body, tearing the buttons on my top, pushing my skirt up to my waist, fingers digging in to my skin. And I can’t catch my breath. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck. I have to, if I don’t I will fall. I let myself kiss him back. I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway because despite everything, I still want to. The feeling of his body, the scent of his skin, everything sends me reeling. Brings every bit of last time crashing back at me. I can’t be doing this, I can’t have him this close … I know why he’s done it. I hear them come through the door. Know that this is what they’ll expect to see.

A moment later Remus tears himself away, turning to meet the new arrivals. I pull my skirt back down and step slightly behind him, wishing he hadn’t torn so many buttons.

‘Do you mind?’ he says, more than a little annoyed.

Three young men; two wizards and a Muggle. They don’t respond at first—just look at one another and back at us again. ‘Sorry mate,’ the blonde wizard says suddenly, ‘we were just looking for a place to …’ He doesn’t finish. Just glances back at his friends who dissolve into drunken giggles.

‘Try the south tower,’ Remus offers. ‘This room’s not big enough for a party.’

‘Dunno, it’s not that small.’ The blonde one grins. ‘We could …’

‘It’s too small,’ Remus states plainly. ‘Go.’

‘All right, all right. But send her along when you’ve finished with her, will you? We could use her. She’s not half bad.’

I can’t see Remus’s face but I do see him shift in his posture and draw his wand; the blonde’s face is instantly sullen.

‘Get out.’ His tone is forceful this time and the boys back down.

‘Keep your shirt on.’ They exchange glances again and turn once more for the stairs.

‘Cranky old git, in’t ‘e?’ I hear one mutter as they pass through the doorway.

Remus seals the door once more.

When their footsteps and voices have faded he turns back to me.

‘Nymphadora. Just now, I—’

‘As you said, I’m just working.’ With that I walk away, drawing my wand to open the door, refusing to let myself turn around. I don’t want to know what else he has to say. I don’t need this to hurt any more than it already does.

**

I stand before the mirror in my bathroom. Polyjuice would long have worn off, but I'm still the tarted up blonde I was when I left home last night. Though now her mascara is running down her face. Be funny if I was stuck like this, wouldn't it? Well, no, not really. Holding tightly to the edge of the sink, I shut my eyes and feel the familiar prickling sensation move through me; a moment later I'm once more looking at myself in the mirror. The me I've grown accustomed to: brown hair, dull complexion. Tabi would say it's 'cos I don't eat properly and she's probably right. I know I don't. Still … I wonder. But it's frightening to even try. I shut my eyes and try to focus. It takes me a few moments to get the image—to even remember what I used to look like. Concentrating on that, I feel my skin begin to prickle again.

The bathroom tile is cold and I shiver as I pull myself to my knees. I take deep breaths hoping to stave off the sensation that I'm going to be sick, and drop my head to my hands again to stop the room from spinning. But it's no use… Gonna be sick. I manage to throw myself at the toilet just in time.

I fucking hate this.

I pull the handle, spitting the last of the bile from my mouth, and watch what had been the contents of my stomach swirl around the bowl and disappear with a loud gulp at the bottom. Staring into the once more clear water, I count to ten before attempting to stand. I move slowly to the sink, washing my hands and face, cleaning my teeth again—all the while avoiding looking up into the mirror. I daren't. I know what I'll see. But curiosity is too great, and taking a deep breath, I grip the edges of the basin tightly and raise my head. There's no change. Of course there isn't. The same dull, pathetic girl stares back at me, made more pathetic still by the red eyes and the tears. What did I expect?

Leaving the bathroom. I climb the ladder to my loft bed and turn out the light, burying myself to my ears in the blankets.

I can shift. I should be happy about that, shouldn't I? And I am. If I think about it I'm thrilled. I can turn myself into a completely different person. Just … can't be myself. It's not fair. Turning my face in the coolness of the pillow, I shut my eyes as tightly as I can. I'll see a Healer tomorrow, but I think I know what they'll say. There's still something missing. I don't need to be told that. I already know. And unfortunately I believe I just told him where to get off.

Don't think there's much hope there anymore, anyway.

*