Nymphadora Tonks and the Liquor of Jacmel

10. Getting Into Fights

Wednesday August 12^th 1994

Tonks was cock-a-hoop for the next few days at the possibility of a real break in the case. Cassius was quietly pleased, explaining to Tonks - or anyone else who would listen - that it was always worth investigating minor leads like this on the off chance that they would turn out to be a pointer to something important. Even Claymore sent them a memo to say that he had noted their progress. It was approving rather than effusive, merely agreeing that this evidence did now seem to indicate that a dangerous situation might be developing, but according to Cassius that was much further than he'd ever gone before when commenting on the case.

Beatrice Easton informed them that she'd agreed to meet with her contact again exactly a week after their previous meeting, which meant that they immediately started making plans for lunchtime on the following Thursday. Tonks spent much of her weekend and the following Monday and Tuesday at the Easton house, learning the details of their past dealings (such as they were - Mrs Easton had apparently been too nervous of her contact and her surroundings to observe either of them closely), practising changing her features to do a perfect imitation of her hostess (who was seriously disconcerted as she watched Tonks experiment), and making sure she could get the voice and mannerisms exactly right (she thought privately that as long as she stammered with alarm every other sentence, no-one would possibly know the difference).

Fortunately, Bobby Easton seemed to be away much of the time, spending only one night in his marital home - or more to the point under the circumstances, in his marital bed - during the entire time Tonks was calling. She'd returned to her usual appearance once there was no need to play Bad Auror (apart from issuing regular Awful Warnings about what would happen if Mrs Easton told anybody what they were planning, to keep her in a suitable state of anxiety). The husband looked at his wife's visitor with considerable interest, and she made her excuses and left quickly before any embarrassing questions could be asked.

Naturally, by the time that she arrived at work on the following Wednesday, she'd completely forgotten about the World Cup security meeting, until Rhiannon Davies called to her as she passed by on the way out.

"See you downstairs, Tonks!"

"Huh?" She turned her head to see Rhiannon leave, almost called her back, then remembered what date it was and glanced at her desk calendar. "Oh hell." Slightly flustered, she scribbled a note to Cassius to let him know where she'd gone, and hurriedly made her way down to Level Seven.

The meeting room turned out to be right at the end of the main corridor, and as she threw open the door a loud ouch! from behind it indicated that just possibly there had been no need for her to be in such a hurry.

The door was pulled fully open by the wizard with the spotless robes and manicured moustache that she'd met twice before under similar unfortunate circumstances. He rubbed his elbow gingerly, and looked at Tonks with pursed lips. "You! This is a private meeting, Miss ..."

"Tonks. Yes, I know, I got the memo, I'm on the list for the World Cup security. I'm really sorry if I'm late, Mr ..."

"Crouch. Bartemius Crouch," he said, with a look of exasperation. Tonks gulped. How was I supposed to know what you looked like? she thought. I hadn't heard of you for ten years until I got the memo! A number of onlookers were watching the conversation, making generally unsuccessful attempts at keeping straight faces.

"I'm sorry, Mr Crouch, ..." she began, but he impatiently waved aside this stumbling attempt at damage limitation.

"Just take a seat, please, we've wasted enough time on this already."

Tonks went over to find Rhiannon Davies, who was waving at her from across the room. Her morale wasn't improved when she distinctly overheard Crouch say to his assistant, sotto voce, "Weatherby, are you sure she's on the list?"

Rhiannon moved her notes from the seat next to her, and Tonks flopped down into it gratefully. Her friend was wearing a wide grin. "You've met Barty Crouch before then?" she said in a too-innocent tone of voice.

"Erm ... I may have bumped into him from time to time," replied Tonks evasively. "What's the programme for today?"

She handed her a sheet of parchment. "Here. Ludo, Crouch, and the UEQA rep are going to talk for a bit, then they're going to form us up into squads and tell us what duties we're assigned to."

"Right. Leaving it a bit late, aren't they?"

Rhiannon shrugged. "Well, they settled the squad leaders quite a while ago. I've been called in for several training sessions already. I'm supposed to keep the rest of my team in line, act as the link for orders, and so on. Dawlish has been putting us all through our paces."

Tonks winced. "Dawlish? Oh, wonderful."

"Do you know him then?" asked Rhiannon with slight surprise. "He tends to do special jobs like the protection squad. I suppose he can commandeer other Aurors, but I didn't realise you'd been called on."

The room was starting to settle down as Tonks replied. "I haven't," she whispered. "But that Dawlish bloke ... he was with combat training when I was doing my three years. He's a bit tough on you, isn't he?" Rhiannon Davies raised her eyebrows in inquiry, but by now the room had gone quiet. "I'll tell you later," she muttered in a dispirited fashion.

Her morale was considerably improved, though, when Ludo Bagman himself bounded into the room, with a cheerful look on his face and a breezy apology for being late. He waved to, or winked at, several people in the audience; including (Tonks was highly amused to note) Rhiannon, who rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about athletes who let themselves get out of condition.

Looking at him as he was now, Tonks had to admit to herself that she was slightly disappointed. His appearance and physique had definitely changed for the worse from the posters she'd had on her wall as a kid, but the roguish grin and boyish exuberance were still there. She couldn't suppress a childlike grin of her own.

Bagman approached a small lectern placed at the front. "Good morning everybody!" he said brightly. "I'd like to say how very pleased I really am that all of you are willing to help us out with the security at the World Cup. I just know it's going to be a wonderful occasion!" A few people cheered, and Bagman chuckled at them and rubbed his hands.

"Now then, just a few words about the line-up for this morning. First my colleague Barty here" - he slapped him on the back, which made Crouch purse his lips again - "would like to talk about how you deal with all the nationalities we'll have at the match. You wouldn't believe some of the problems we're had arranging transport for them all! After that, Albert" - he indicated a dour-faced man who, from his appearance, might once have been a referee - "wants a word about the importance of not getting in the way while the actual match is on. Very vital that, we Beaters don't really care where we send the Bludgers as long as it's not at our own team, you wouldn't want to be hit by mistake!" That actually got a laugh from many of the audience. "Finally, this afternoon we'll hand you over to Mr Dawlish here to discuss the squads and ground rules." He pointed at Dawlish, a tough-looking man with close-cropped, wiry hair that was turning grey, who nodded at them confidently. "Good luck, and I hope you'll have as wonderful a time as we're having! Over to you, Barty!"

Crouch stepped up to the lectern, with a disapproving look that suggested he didn't consider that the security staff should be thinking in terms of having a wonderful time. He began to talk in clipped tones about the critical importance of the tournament for the reputation of wizarding Britain.

Tonks could see his point about it being vital to make a good impression on their foreign visitors, many of whom knew of the horrors of the 1970-81 war and still regarded Britain as a potentially dangerous place, but found her attention wandering as his long and tedious address wore on. She glanced around; many of the other people in the room, including Ludo Bagman, were fidgeting in their seats or staring into space with glazed expressions. The only person who seemed to be drinking in every word with rapt attention was Crouch's assistant.

Although she's been resolved to listen carefully to everything that was said, the sheer dullness of the speech defeated her, and she found her mind leaping ahead to consider what Dawlish might be going to say to them. Her first encounter with him still made her squirm with embarrassment.

*****

October 1991

Auror combat training had turned out to be held in a very large room off the main second level corridor in the Ministry, roughly the size of a Quidditch pitch. The floor looked like stone but felt soft underfoot, having presumably been treated with some kind of cushioning charm for safety reasons. It seemed bare and empty when the trainees filed in - there were a number of pieces of equipment stacked against the walls, and a row of seats along one side, but it was otherwise just a wide open space.

Dawlish was waiting for them in front of the seats, standing next to a large blackboard that was hovering in mid-air. He nodded at each of the trainees as they passed by, but didn't speak, which caused them to share uneasy glances. When they had settled down, he pointed his wand at the door and muttered a locking charm.

"Good morning," he said shortly. "Warren Dawlish. I'll be tutoring you. Won't tell you how important combat skills are to an Auror - waste of time, you must know already. We'll start with some basics. Got those right, you're well on the way." He tapped the board with his wand and a short list appeared on it:

Stupefy

Impedimenta

Expelliarmus

Protego

Apparition

"For the moment, just to start with, we'll be making sure you can use these techniques really proficiently. Go over them till you don't need to think about them. Cast the spells quickly - shouldn't need to say them at all, if you're good."

The class exchanged looks. "Just like that?" muttered one of them in a sceptical voice. "Not as easy as it sounds doing the spell without the incantation."

In reply, Dawlish nonchalantly pointed his wand at the empty chair next to the speaker. A jet of red light shot out of the end and smashed a hole in the seat, making the hapless trainee yelp and jump out of the way.

"Just like that," he said with a slight twitch of the mouth that might have been a suppressed smile. "Reparo." The pieces of the seat flew back together. "Don't expect you to be able to do that quite as easily yet, though. Takes practice, although since you've got this far you should have some idea how it's done." He held up a hand to forestall renewed mutterings from the trainees. "I know, not all of you had good teachers at school. But this mostly comes from you. You have to learn to focus the right way. You get these few techniques down pat, you'll be well set in any fight."

"But, sir ..." said Tonks hesitantly. "Surely they aren't enough by themselves? What if you get into a fight with someone who knows really powerful spells or Dark Magic? Don't we need to know all the counters?" Dawlish looked at her; the almost-smile became more pronounced.

"It helps, yes. When there is a counter. Eventually, we'll go into that in more detail. But these are the basics. Magical attack. Physical attack. Disarming. Spell blocking. Evasion. You can Apparate within this room, by the way, if you were wondering, but not outside of it. Anyway, it gives you fallback techniques. Very important never to get caught hesitating in a fight, wondering what spell to cast next. Let's demonstrate." He waved a hand to indicate that Tonks should join him.

"Me, sir?" She stood up with an uneasy feeling. Although she'd always done well at the school Duelling Club, and had acquired some useful practical experience in sticky situations on her travels; trying to fight a senior instructor was taking things to a whole new level.

"Yes, you. Generally pick the one who doesn't think these spells are enough to do any good. There's always one. So let's duel. I'll confine myself to the techniques on the board. All right?"

Not really, no, but I don't suppose I can get out of it now, can I? "OK, sir. Er ... what can I use?"

"Anything you like, long as it's legal and non-lethal. Maybe even turn a blind eye to the first requirement. Do your worst. Wand ready then? Right." Dawlish nodded to one of the other trainees. "Give us a count of three." They bowed briefly to each other and held their wands out in the standard duelling position. Tonks was sure she could see the end of hers trembling slightly.

"One ... two ... three."

"Petrificus Totalus!" Tonks cried, aiming her wand at Dawlish and flinching slightly to duck anything coming her way. He, however, was already muttering "Protego" before she got to the end of the first word, and the spell bounced right back at her.

Just about the longest incantation you could have chosen. Brilliant idea! Why not just send him an owl to tell him what you were going to cast? His counter-spell was a Stunner, which she ducked, stumbling slightly. Off-balance, she thought briefly about Apparating, but didn't have time to gather her concentration as Dawlish shot a Disarming Charm at her, which she only just managed to fend off with a Shield Charm of her own.

Damn! Right, Tonks, diversionary tactics. She waved her wand to create a loud explosion and a cloud of smoke in between them, which gave her time to focus and Apparate across the room, then cast a rapid Stunning Spell at the place where Dawlish was standing ... or at any rate, should have been standing. She realised that he too had Apparated away, and was now on the other side of the room. He reacted more quickly and sent an Impediment Jinx her way; this time, although her hasty Shield Charm blocked the worst of it, there was still enough force remaining to knock her over.

Panicking slightly, she dredged up an obscure spell from the back of her mind and cried "Canis defensor!" There was a loud bang, and a large and very vicious looking dog appeared out of thin air. It snarled, bared its teeth and leapt at the approaching Dawlish.

"Impedimenta!" His casually-spoken spell sent the dog flying across the room, where it hit the ground with considerable force and lay whimpering with its tail between its legs. It had however given Tonks time to get back on her feet again.

She only just managed to duck the next Stunning Spell, and in desperation she fired back the nastiest spell she could think of on the spur of the moment, a Furnace Hex. You don't mind illegal, sir? Do my worst? Right you are, then. It didn't hit him - if it had, it would have given him some very painful burns - but it forced him to Apparate out of its path again, which gave Tonks time to start worrying.

Dawlish had reappeared not too far away, and now began to cast a stream of Stunners, Impediment Jinxes and Disarming Charms at her (she realised that he wasn't bothering to voice the incantations now). It barely gave her time to do anything but duck, dodge, and throw up Shield Charm after Shield Charm to fend them off. She was extremely glad that the arena was mostly empty space - if there had been any objects in the way, she would surely have tripped over at least one of them by now. Her few attempts at countering with a Stunner were brushed off easily. She was beginning to see his point; it was easier to cast something simple that didn't require much thought.

As she stumbled backwards under the force of one of the spells, she caught his eyes, and watched them flick past her shoulder momentarily to a point just behind her, and as he suddenly disappeared from view with a crack Tonks gambled. She spun 180 degrees, crying "Stupefy!" as she did so, hoping to be able to adjust her aim in the process of turning.

The streak of red light from her wand flew into empty space. He wasn't there.

"Expelliarmus!" Her wand flew from her hand and she realised with horror that he'd simply Apparated backwards a few feet, and that the eye movement had been a feint. She didn't have time to duck, Apparate, or even curse herself for falling for a sucker ploy before an Impediment Jinx hit her and sent her crashing to the ground. She struggled against what felt like invisible ropes binding her as Dawlish walked slowly over and pointed his wand at her throat.

"Good fight, Miss Tonks," he said. "Better than average, actually. You'll do fine when we've trained you up a bit, I think. But my win. And my point made, I think."

*****

Wednesday August 12^th 1994

A rustling sound among the assembled volunteers brought Tonks' attention back to the hall. Crouch's lecture had finally come to an end; Tonks was surprised to find, when she looked at her watch guiltily, that he'd actually been talking for nearly three-quarters of an hour. She would have asked Rhiannon Davies what he'd said, but she seemed to be coming out of a coma as well.

The remainder of the morning session was equally uninspiring. A much needed coffee break was followed by a hectoring lecture from the man named Benedict, warning the assembled company that they must not only stay well clear of the action themselves, but also prevent any interference with the play from the crowd or the Bulgarian or Irish coaching staffs.

The speech was livened up slightly by a number of tales of dirty tricks from Quidditch matches of the past. Tonks was astonished to learn that the manager of the legendary Hungarian team of the 1770s, an equally legendary former Seeker, had later confessed that he had regularly spotted the Snitch from the sidelines early in the game and cast an Invisibility Spell on it, to prevent it being caught until his superb Chasers had run up an unassailable lead - a tactic that had led directly to the modern, highly charm-resistant version. Unfortunately, this information was delivered in such a flat monotone it was almost as boring as listening to Crouch.

When they reconvened after lunch, they discovered that Benedict, Crouch, and (Tonks was sorry to see) Ludo Bagman had taken their leave. Dawlish, and a small group of wizards and witches who seemed to be under his direct command, were the only ones left at the front of the hall.

Dawlish tapped on the lectern to call the meeting to order. He looked and spoke exactly as Tonks remembered him. "Right, everyone," he said. "You've heard this morning what we're all supposed to be doing this for. Now for the practical bit. In general, all you do is watch out for trouble and stop it if you find any. Simple enough, right?" He smiled ironically.

"We've arranged for each squad to have someone experienced in charge; an Auror, a senior official, a veteran member of the Law Enforcement Patrol, whoever. There's also a group of supervisors. Everybody gets identification badges saying who they are. If at any point you don't know what to do, ask the most senior person you can find."

He talked for a while about chains of command, legal uses of force, and emergency procedures. It wasn't so bad. Tonks was used to his staccato style of talking after three years training; and even if she hadn't been, it marked a definite improvement on the morning lectures. At least it was mercifully clear, and he certainly didn't waste words.

"Right," he said after a while, with a gesture to his companions. "Now we'll get you into your squads. I'll read out the list. When you hear your name, come up to the front and one of my team here will tell you what to do. We've assigned you to duties according to your experience."

Tonks exchanged a nervous look with Rhiannon Davies. She really hoped that she'd managed to get them onto the same squad. She didn't have too long to wait, as the list seemed to be arranged in alphabetical order of squad leader.

"... Squad 14. Team Leader: Rhiannon Davies, Auror. Team members: William Poppleford, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Chesney Thompson, research assistant to the Committee on Experimental Charms. Nymphadora Tonks, Auror."

Tonks breathed a silent sigh of relief and accompanied her new Team Leader to the front of the hall, where they introduced themselves to the two wizards who would be joining them. Poppleford turned out to be a burly middle-aged wizard with thinning hair and a ruddy complexion, who nodded politely. Thompson was a much thinner man in his twenties, with an apparently irrepressible grin, who winked at them. He might almost have been Bagman's younger brother ... or at any rate, a not too distant relative.

Dawlish's man coughed to draw their attention. "Very well, Miss Davies, your team have been assigned to watch over the campsite on the weekend before the match, so none of you will have to miss more than a day of your normal work before the Final starts." He paused with a resigned look as Thompson booed jokingly. "Once the match is in progress, you are contracted to remain on duty in the stadium as long as the match lasts. We've drawn up rotas to cater for an extended match - it went on for five days last time - so you'll be doing shifts of six hours on duty, six hours off. You're on duty for the first shift." He handed them each a sheaf of parchment. "You need to read and understand these ground rules. Your team leader will be responsible for training you in anything else you need to know. Any questions?"

"Yes," said Thompson. "Are we supposed to meet beforehand to practice, then?"

"That's up to your team leader. But it's highly recommended, as we've already told her. Anything else?"

"What do we do if these Aurors have to leave?" asked the stocky wizard. "Fend for ourselves?"

"Check in with the nearest supervisor or team leader. If a riot breaks out or something - and I really hope it won't - they'll be responsible for tactical matters. We - " (he pointed to an official badge on his robes) are responsible for overall organisation. Supervisors and team leaders take direction from us. OK?"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "I guess so," said Poppleford.

"Right. Over to you then, Miss Davies." He nodded at Rhiannon and went back to collect another squad.

Rhiannon Davies looked at her squad with a slightly nervous expression. "Very well, team, I don't think there's too much to discuss now," she said. "We haven't been given any very complex duties, look you - just try to make sure people don't get out of order. Oh, and it's a Muggle campsite, so it's important to warn anyone you see who isn't behaving the Muggle way. At the match - well, keep an eye out for trouble, but I don't suppose anyone's going to say anything if you watch the play too. OK?"

"Do we meet up?" asked Thompson with a glance at the others.

"Ah. Yes. Probably a good idea. Do you fellows work regular hours?"

The two wizards exchanged glances. "Most of the time," said Poppleford.

"Pretty much," agreed Thompson.

"Oh, right. Let's say this Saturday afternoon at two o'clock, then? Sort out the details of what we'll be doing, then maybe we can all go for a drink, get to know each other, call it a team-building exercise?" They nodded; Rhiannon looked heartened. "Great. I'll send a memo round to confirm the details. OK, I guess I'll see you later!"

All over the hall, people were beginning to wander off. Thompson winked at them once more. "I don't suppose anyone will mind if I slip off home now?" he said. "Look forward to meeting you all again." As he and Poppleford joined the stream of volunteers leaving the hall, Rhiannon Davies looked at Tonks with relief.

"Glad that's over. I really should have prepared a proper pep talk for them, I suppose, but ... oh you know how it is, I was busy. Let's go."

As they strolled over to the door, she asked, "By the way, what did you do in Dawlish's class?"

Tonks gave her a brief explanation, making Davies giggle. "You idiot," she said. "I had enough sense not to stick my neck out. It wasn't Dawlish then, old Bruno Featherstone was doing them before he got promoted."

"He did a few of ours," said Tonks with a shudder. "The more ... extreme ones. How did yours go?"

"Oh, Featherstone flattened some poor sod called Davey Wickham who thought he was really good at duelling. Needless to say, he wasn't."

"I wonder if anyone ever won one of those duels?" mused Tonks as they reached the door.

"Only once." Both women's heads jerked round at this, to see Dawlish looking at them with amusement. "Miss Tonks, isn't it? Sort of a tradition in the Department to demonstrate basic combat skills against some hapless recruit. We tell the trainees they can use anything they like in the fight, they almost always make the mistake of using a lot of complex spells. Best to be sparing with those, unless you're really powerful or experienced. Much better to do the basics well. You missed a simple trick as well, as I recall."

Tonks cast her mind back to the subsequent part of the lesson where the class had examined the tactics used. "I did? You mean Remansio?"

"Yes. Basic Anti-Disapparation Jinx; make one of those stick, you've got a big advantage. The trainee who won managed to bring that off. Didn't tell you then, but you also had the right idea trying to shock me with a Dark spell. You just didn't take it far enough."

"Not far enough?"

"The one who won started to shout 'Avada ...' at the tutor. He was so shocked, he reacted according to his training, made a desperate dive out of the way without thinking. Bluff of course, but it worked. Left him wide open for a Stunner. Good thinking for a trainee, even the instructor said so afterwards."

Tonks raised her eyebrows. So did Rhiannon Davies. "Who was the one who won? Do we know him?"

He gave them a slightly twisted smile as he walked out the door. "Yes," he said. "Fellow by the name of Dawlish."