Dumbledore's Secret

Chapter 8

Tonks stumbled out of bed much later than she had intended. She must have been incredibly tired if she could oversleep in a bed as uncomfortable as the one she had chosen last night. She supposed she could have returned to her own place in wizarding London, but she had dreaded going back to her lonely flat after such a miserable evening. She, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, and Emmaline had stayed at Hogwarts well into the early morning hours performing an exhaustive - and exhausting - search of the school. The possibility that the Death Eaters had broken the anti-apparition wards was small, but the Order was quickly coming to learn never to underestimate their foes.

When she had finally left Hogwarts, she headed back to the Order headquarters, where she often stayed after long nights on duty. She had stumbled up to her usual room, only to find Dumbledore's granddaughter fast asleep in her bed. Tonks tried not to be annoyed; she had to remind herself that this woman had just been through a hellish week. Still, when she finally found a spare bedroom, she fell asleep irritated.

She woke up irritated, as well. She had a crick in her neck, so that she couldn't turn it more than an inch on either side. In her tired state, she'd only been able to transfigure dowdy clothes (no matter what the Witch Weekly's "Fashion in a Flash" column claimed, it took a great deal of concentration and energy to build a successful wardrobe). And she was running incredibly late for work. Kingsley wouldn't care, but he'd still have to publicly reprimand her so the other Aurors wouldn't suspect anything.

Pulling on god-awful but clean underclothes (which looked like they belonged to a woman three times her age), a blouse (it had flowers on the collar - flowers!) and skirt (which ballooned from her waist and made her feel like a tent), Tonks scowled into the mirror, which luckily wasn't a talking one. To compensate for her horrid, middle-aged woman attire, she metamorphosed her hair into emerald green ringlets. She realized that she looked like an aging leprechaun, but she decided she didn't have time to make anymore changes. She raced down the stairs, only barely making it to the kitchens without waking up that hag of a portrait.

Just as she was about to enter the kitchen, she heard Remus laughing. Smiling at the rich sound, she stepped into the doorway to find him having a cup of tea with Charlotte.

"Yes," he was saying, laughing again, "Sibyll is definitely one to watch out for."

Tonks' chest suddenly ached. He laughed so easily with her ... how often had the two of them laughed like that? Not bloody often.

"Taken to lurking in doorways, Nymphandora?" a silky voice asked from inside the kitchen. Nursing a mug, Snape sat in his usual corner, away from the two at the table. Tonks didn't know what annoyed her more - that he had called her by her dreaded first name or that it had been he and not Remus who had first noticed her presence.

"Tonks!" Remus said, smiling. But it was an awkward smile, a nervous smile, not that easy happiness he had shown her.

"I don't think you've had a chance to officially meet Albus's granddaughter. Charlotte, this is Tonks."

Charlotte looked over at her and smiled. "It's nice to meet you," she said, standing and holding out her hand.

Remember what she's been through, Tonks tried to tell herself. Try to be kind. But she could only make herself nod curtly, leaving Charlotte standing rather awkwardly by the table.

"Tonks? Are you all right..."Remus began.

"I need some tea," Tonks muttered. "I'm running late." She rushed over to the stove and grabbed the kettle. "Fuck!" she screeched as she brushed her fingers against the metal top and burned her hand. She dropped the kettle abruptly, and it clattered on the floor, the hot water spattering her bare calves. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Remus rushed over to her. "Are you all right?" he asked again, his face full of kindly concern. He reached out to touch her burnt hand, but she swatted him away.

"I'm fine, fine, I've got to go." She turned and hurried out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and outside to apparate.

By the time she had arrived at the Ministry, her hand was throbbing and her eyes were full of tears. She did a quick healing charm and wiped her eyes, then headed to her cubicle.

"Tonks! You're late!" Kingsley boomed. Then he walked up to her cubicle and said more quietly, "You look like shit. That long night get to you?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well ... okay, I slept badly, I burnt the hell out of my hand, and ..." And what? I just experienced an insane fit of jealousy? "I had a run in with Snape," she ended lamely.

"Ouch. That couldn't have been pretty. He must have been in an especially horrible mood this morning, now that he's been ordered to remain cooped up in that place all summer."

"Really? He'll be there all summer?"

"You didn't hear?" Kingsley's voice dropped to a whisper. "Dumbledore ordered it last night, after getting that message you revealed. Apparently it was some sort of threat." Then he chuckled. "But I really feel sorry for Dumbledore's granddaughter. She's stuck there, too. Can you imagine being able to talk to no one except Snape?"

Tonks scowled. "I'm sure Remus will be happy to keep her company."

Kingsley gave her an odd look. "Well, seeing as he won't be there either ..."Then at her look of puzzlement he added softly, "His mission to recruit werewolves ..."

"Oh shit, I completely forgot." Then it really hit her. "He's leaving today!"

"Probably already left."

"No!" She jumped up from her desk, thinking of how rude she'd been, how cold ... and he'd be gone for weeks, maybe months! "I've got to go!"

Before Kingsley could object, she raced out of the Ministry and nearly splinched herself apparating to No. 12.

Pulling open the front door, she screamed, "Remus!" not caring a bit that she had just woken old Mrs. Black.

"You filthy blood traitor! Half blood wench!"

"Remus!" she called out again, heading for the kitchen stairwell. But before she could make her way downstairs, Snape raced up, followed closely by Charlotte.

"Traitor! Half bloods! Disgusting ..."

"For God's sake!" Snape yelled, hurrying to the portrait and struggling to close the covering.

"Tonks, what's wrong!" Charlotte asked.

"Where's Remus?"

"Uh, he just left. What's..." Charlotte lowered her voice as Snape managed to silence the portrait. "What's the matter?"

Tonks shook her head. She had missed him. "He's gone?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Can we help ..." Charlotte began, but Tonks turned around and left the house before she could finish the sentence.

*

When the door closed behind Tonks, Severus said to Charlotte, "It appears you haven't made yourself a friend." And those were the last words Charlotte heard from another human being for over a week.

The first few days of isolation had been manageable. In the mornings and late evenings, she read and prepared for her classes. In the afternoons, she made good use of a surprise gift from her grandfather: he had transfigured an old china cabinet into a baby grand piano. The cherry wood Steinway looked decidedly out of place in the dreary drawing room with its dark, heavy curtains and musty old tapestry. But Charlotte managed to ignore her grim surroundings in the hours she spent pouring over Beethoven's sonatas, Chopin's etudes, and Brahms's intermezzi.

On her second afternoon in the old house, she was playing through her favorite Schubert sonata when Severus opened the door. He glanced at her but said nothing, so she continued playing. She thought he would leave, but instead he walked into the room and sat down near the piano. Feeling his eyes on her, she became nervous and flubbed a particularly difficult passage. She almost stopped playing, but then she heard him snort as if he had been expecting her to quit. So, she pushed through the rapid octave scales and didn't stop playing until, nearly an hour later, he got up and left.

The next 8 days were eerily similar, except that she now expected him to listen to her play and leave without a word. She began to get stir crazy after hearing nothing but the sound of her piano playing and the voice in her own head. Still she was determined not to speak to him. He had made it clear, several times now, that he wanted nothing to do with her.

But after several days of speaking to no one, Charlotte thought she was going to go mad. The setting didn't help. Every time she went upstairs, she had to look away from the shriveled heads mounted on the walls like trophies. On her first day there, she had actually gotten up the nerve to examine these strange wall hangings; she had only been able to read the engraving on one nearest the stairwell - "Here Rests Kreacher, Last Honorable House Elf of the Most Noble Family Black" - before she became disgusted and had to turn away.

By the 10^th day, the general creepiness of the house, along with the utter silence of the place, had just about forced Charlotte to swallow her pride and confront Severus. But, to her surprise, he actually spoke to her first, just after she had finished practicing for the afternoon.

"You don't play Mozart well."

She pushed away from the piano and rounded on him. "You are a snide, sarcastic, cynical, bitter man!"

"Yes, so?"

"That's all you can say ... after 10 days of silence, that's all you can say? You don't play Mozart well?"

"You use too much pedal."

She threw up her hands. "Too much pedal?"

"Yes. You play Mozart too much like Brahms or Liszt, too romantic, too lush, not clean and precise like good classical period pieces should be."

"Fine, you play it then! Let me hear your Mozart." She gestured to the piano. "Well?"

"I don't play," he bit out.

"Oh, I see. You only know how to criticize!" She paused. "How do you know so much about muggle piano music, anyway?"

He looked away from her. "I had a sister who played."

Her anger drained away. She noted his use of past tense, and so she said hesitantly, "Is it usual for British wizarding families to pursue muggle hobbies?"

"In our family, and in most pureblood families, no, it is not usual. My father hated..." But he stopped and rose from his chair. She could see clearly that this conversation was coming to an end.

Suddenly, she felt desperate to keep him talking. So, she asked the first question that came to her mind. "Why are you so moody?"

He sighed. "Play the Schubert Sonata again."

She crossed her arms. "You're evading my question."

"I don't think I am moody. Play the Schubert."

She considered him for a moment; she didn't like the idea of obeying his command like some faithful servant, but she did love the piece, and she didn't want him to leave. So she sat back down at the bench and began to play. It was an appropriate piece for him, actually. It began softly, in a dark, minor key, and quickly built to an angry, strident theme. But then, quite suddenly, the music became tender, almost fragile. Yes, it was a moody piece for a moody man.

Quietly he said, "You play the Schubert well."

"You do this on purpose, don't you? It throws people off. A compliment when they're least expecting it."

"You don't think I'm sincere?"

"I don't know."

"No Legilimency to be certain?"

"No what?"

"You don't know what Legilimency is?"

She sighed. "I guess this is something that well trained wizards would know. No, I don't know what it is. Now, tell me how behind I am, how I'm 'woefully ignorant' - I think those were your exact words."

"Defensive, are we?" Then he met her eyes. "No, you don't know what it is. Amazing."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's what Granddad said when I saw ... this has something to do with my being able to read people."

He didn't answer. Instead he walked to the door.

"Well, talk to you in 10 days, I guess," she muttered.

He actually grinned at her. "You really are desperate, aren't you?"

She blushed. "Well, if it's bad conversation or no conversation, I guess I'd prefer the bad."

"Well, come on then, you can help with my potions."

"Potions?" She followed him out of the sitting room and into the entrance hall. She whispered, "Does this have something to do with those potions you mentioned at the meeting last night?"

He nodded. They descended into the kitchen.

"What, down here? Where we eat? Is that really very safe..."

He shook his head and entered a room right off the kitchen. "You're not the only one who received a gift ... though mine's not nearly as trifling as a piano."

She sighed. "You really know how to take the fun out of things, don't you?"

"It used to be the pantry," Severus said.

She looked around and whistled. It was actually a very spacious room. Glass-paneled cabinets containing of all sorts of jars and bottles lined the walls, and in the middle of the room sat a granite-topped workbench. Along the back wall stood three large cauldrons, one of which was bubbling and steaming. It was difficult for Charlotte to see everything in the room, as it was windowless and the only light source was a gas lamp hanging from the ceiling. But she thought she spotted, in one of the cabinets, a jar labeled leech juice, and she shuddered.

"This was one hell of big pantry."

"Albus enlarged it."

"What, he just waved his wand and ..."

"You really don't know any magic, do you?"

She lifted her chin. "I know some. I've read a great deal, and ..." But then she stopped and looked at the three cauldrons. "But I know nothing at all about potions. Maybe I shouldn't ..."

He looked disgusted. "You've had no training in potions?" She shook her head. "None at all?" he asked again, as if he couldn't believe it.

"You saw Fran's house. Where was she going to put a potions lab? And besides, it costs way too much money, and the parents don't think that potions is very necessary..."

"Not necessary? Is everyone in the States insane?"

She smiled at his offended tone. "You must love teaching potions. You know, when we were in that Inn, and you were shooting spells at that Death Eater, I thought maybe you were also the defense instructor. But, I think potions suits you more. Besides, Minerva just offered Remus the defense job yesterday, so I guess it wouldn't make sense for you to teach..."

He glowered. "I can't fucking believe it. They've given it to the bloody werewolf again?" He stomped over to his workbench and started whacking a piece of some odd, almost human looking root into small bits.

"What is your problem with him, anyway? I think he's quite nice ..."

"Yes, that's obvious enough. Are you going to help me, or are you just going to chit chat all day?"

She frowned. "Why won't you answer any of my questions?"

"You have two choices. Pull up a stool and start slicing these ingredients or you can leave."

"Look, I'm not some student that you can just order around."

"I'll take that as a goodbye."

She huffed. "Fine, fine."

As she pulled up her stool, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

He came to stand behind her. "Here, cut these into fine slices, like this." He put the knife into her hand. Then, placing his hand over hers, he helped her carve off a tiny piece of the thick purplish green root.

Trying to ignore the feel of his hand on hers, she asked, "What is this stuff? Oh, let me guess, you're not going to answer my question."

"You tell me. What is it?"

He went back over to his side of the workbench.

She shrugged. "I told you, I know nothing ..."

"It's Mandrake. What are its properties?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

"Mandrakes are powerful restoratives. What kinds of things might we use it for?"

She was about to tell him, once again, that she didn't know, but she caught him glaring at her, and so she actually tried to think about it. "Uh ... maybe a potion to wake the unconscious?"

He nodded. "It's a possibility. And what if we added some ginger, which is also an important element in wit-sharpening potions?"

Her eyes lit up. "This is a cure for some sort of mental disease!"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

She grinned, suddenly liking potions a great deal more. Though she'd never considered herself a science person, she felt, suddenly, like she was doing something extremely important.

"Watch what you're doing!" he snapped, and she looked down at her mandrake to see that she had been cutting her pieces too big.

Well, perhaps potions wasn't as great as she thought.

"What is this called, whatever we're making?" she asked.

He shook his head. "What I'm making has no name, as of yet."

"What we're making is untried? How can we be sure we're doing this correctly?"

"Miss Richardson, you are not making anything. You are simply assisting. If making potions was only about slicing mandrake roots into neat little rows, then even Neville Longbottom could be a potions master."

"Who's Neville Longbottom?"

He grimaced. "You'll find out soon enough. Though I'll bet he'll be one of your favorites. You'll consider him a sensitive, thoughtful boy who should be treated more kindly."

She sighed. "Talking to you is like talking in circles. I don't think you've answered a single one of my questions. Why do you get to control the conversation?"

"Because I'm the one with all the answers. Now, put that in the cauldron on the far left. Make sure to drop each root in one at a time, and stir after each piece. And for god's sake, don't get any on you. Here, put these on." He tossed her a pair of gloves.

She did as he asked, and she watched the potion slowly change from a murky brown to a rich, dark green. "Rather beautiful. Is it done?"

He shook his head. "It will need to sit a few days, and then we'll add it to the other cauldrons. It's just an intermediate step."

"You're not going to tell me anything else about it?"

"You tell me. What's the final aim of this potion?"

"Will you stop playing teacher?"

"Will you stop playing dumb?"

She sighed. "Well, if it's got mandrake and ginger, it must have something to do with mental facilities, but I've already told you that. What else goes in it?"

He got up from the workbench and walked to a bookshelf behind her. "Armadillo bile, Jobberknoll feathers, and moonstone are some of the other main ingredients."

As he pulled several books off the shelf, she asked, "And what do those do?"

"Here." He handed her a book. "Look it up."

She started to flip through the heavy, leather bound tome when he snapped, "Not now. Hold out your arms." He then proceeded to put 6 other, equally heavy books in her arms.

"Well ... thanks. I'll try reading these, if I ever make it upstairs with them."

"There's a general text for potions, defense, charms, arthimancy, astronomy, transfiguration, and divination - which is generally worthless, but you should be exposed to it. You will give me a summary of Chapters 1-4 in each of these texts ... let's say by the end of this week. And you'll tell me the properties of the other main ingredients to this potion."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"We'll go over theory in the mornings, and you'll put aside your afternoons for practical instruction. Do you still have a wand?"

"Uh ... Granddad gave me my mother's old wand ... but I have to prepare for my own classes!"

"Well, find the time then. Just don't plan on using your mornings or afternoons to do it. I'll expect you here in the kitchen by 8 a.m. sharp."

"Need I remind you, I'm not one of your students! You can't just ..."

"You know less magic than most of the students at Hogwarts. Currently, you're an embarrassment to the school."

"Excuse me! But were you not there the night I explained how my mother ..."

"Spare me the sob story. Believe me, some of your students won't care ... they'll find out about your lack of abilities and manipulate you."

"I'm not completely ignorant! I know enough spells ..."

"Stupify and scourgify? They don't count."

" ... and what I don't know, I can read about."

"Exactly why I've given you those books. But that's not enough. And you know it. You said you wanted to learn magic ... or was that only to make the story of your troubled childhood seem more dramatic? Your grandfather and Minerva may think it an interesting experiment to place a poorly trained witch in a position of power, but I think it's a mistake. You should never have been hired in the first place, even for a subject as worthless as history."

If she hadn't been carrying 7 large books, she would have picked up the nearest implement and thrown it at him. As it was, she could only glare. "You pompous son of a bitch, I think we need to clear one thing up right now."

He said nothing as he came up behind her and placed a hand on the small of her back.

Managing to sound unaffected by the tingle that raced up her spine, she said angrily, "You will treat me with respect, do you understand?"

"Tomorrow at 8," was his only response. Then, with a gentle shove, he pushed her out into the kitchen and shut the door to his lab.