(early in OOTP, just as the Order shows up to extract Harry)

Taken Seriously

A/N 28/8/16: I've made some changes, prompted mostly by a review from Runecutter. Few bits of dialog from Harry that really didn't work, plus anything else I noticed as I went through the story again. My thanks to Runecutter, and I really do mean it in my bio when I say I appreciate concrit.

One moment Harry was wallowing in despair, and the next he was on his feet with his wand drawn. He was the youngest Seeker in a century, after all, and had developed a healthy paranoia after years of near-death experiences.

A moment later, he consciously registered what had startled him – a crash in the kitchen. The Dursleys shouldn't be back for ages yet, and anyway he hadn't heard their car. So the people in the kitchen must either be Muggle burglars with extremely good timing, or else wizards who had somehow defeated Dumbledore's blood wards and come to kill Harry.

Then he heard voices, strange voices, in what sounded like a pretty relaxed conversation. Probably not burglars then, and definitely not assassins. Harry shrugged, and flattened himself against the wall just clear of where the door would swing open. He held his wand pointed at the door – no matter what Mr Weasley might have said about not using any more magic, Harry was already in plenty of trouble anyway and he wasn't going to just give in if someone attacked him.

He heard a loud click as the lock on his door opened itself – definitely wizards then – and then the door slowly swung open.

Harry stood motionless, staring through the open door at the dark upstairs landing. When nothing more happened, he quietly slipped through the doorway and stood at the top of the stairs.

There were people standing in the shadowy hall below, silhouetted against the streetlight glowing through the glass door. Eight or nine people, at a glance, and all looking up at him – those were not good odds. Harry reflexively dived sideways, ready any moment to cast a shield, but not willing to attack until he knew what was going on. Somewhat to his surprise, he heard a short bark of laughter from below.

"Smart lad," said a low, growling voice.

"Professor Moody?" called Harry incredulously.

"No such thing, lad – never was. Your professor wasn't Moody, and I'm not your professor. But I'm Moody, right enough. Now stand down – we're not going to hurt you."

Harry shrugged, unseen.
"You've other people with you. Is there anyone I can recognise and trust, before I come out?"

A moment later, Professor Lupin's voice floated up the stairs.
"It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away."

Harry relaxed and stepped back out onto the landing.
"Professor Lupin!"

An unknown woman's voice interjected,
"Why are we all standing in the dark? Lumos."

A wand-tip flared, bathing the hall in light. Harry dimly noted the familiar and unfamiliar figures half-visible in the hallway, but for now his attention was fixed on the woman holding her lit wand aloft.

She looked maybe a few years older than Harry; she had a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. Her face in the wandlight was unearthly beautiful. Her hair was a shocking splash of life in Harry's world of shadows. He found his mood suddenly lifting as she smiled at him.
"Wotcher, Harry!"

He smiled back, the others forgotten for now.
"Um, hi. Not to be rude, but... who are you?"

She laughed.
"I see what they mean now – you're adorable. I'm Tonks."

"Just Tonks?"

"Just Tonks. Only ever Tonks. We clear?"

Harry shrugged.
"Sure, no problem. You don't call me freak, and I won't call you whatever it is you hate being called."

Tonks tilted her head slightly, staring intently at Harry. He met her gaze calmly – he was used to being stared at anyway, and she was certainly nice to look at. Finally she gave him a brief, decisive nod, before turning to her companions. As if on cue, Moody took control again.

"Lupin, can you confirm that this really is Harry? I like this boy, but he seems a bit smarter than he should be."

Lupin smiled faintly.
"Harry, what form does your Patronus take?"

"A stag."

"Thanks. Mad-Eye, this is the real Harry."

The grizzled old man nodded in satisfaction.
"Good. Kingsley, get his books and stuff from the cupboard under the stairs. It's locked. Tonks, go up and get the boy packed. Everyone else, stay quiet and pay attention. We want to be gone as soon as we get the all-clear."

Harry flicked on the light as he went back into his bedroom. Tonks followed behind him, and he winced as he noticed just how filthy the room was. And how bad he was, for that matter. Tonks didn't say a word, though – just wrinkled her nose for a moment, then started muttering under her breath and flicking her wand at Harry and around the room.
"Alright, that'll hold you for now. You still really need a shower, but we'll worry about that when we get there."

"Get where?" said Harry.
"I mean, not that I'm not delighted to get out of this place, but where are we going? And, um, not to be rude or anything, but where the hell have you all been for the last bloody month or so?"

Tonks winced, visibly, as she continued packing his trunk with mostly-wordless spells.
"In a word, Dumbledore. No time now, but I promise you I'll explain properly when we do have time. Alright?"

Harry relaxed, consciously pushing down his anger. At least she seemed to be taking him seriously.
"Thanks."

At the end of a long and surprisingly unenjoyable broom flight, Harry found himself in a dingy square somewhere in London. He saw rubbish on the ground, cheerlessly shabby buildings all around, and a distinct lack of any other humans besides themselves. He frowned, unconsciously touching the handle of his hidden wand.
"Where are we?"

Moody grinned at Harry's paranoia, then stepped forward and held out a scrap of parchment for Harry to see. It said:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Harry looked around, noting the street numbers. He stared at the lack of gap between number 11 and number 13. A moment later, there was another house there, looking for all the world as if it had been there all along. He was sure he hadn't just missed it before, because it looked different from the rest – somehow even grimmer than the other buildings, and yet in better repair. He shrugged – obviously it had been hidden by some sort of magic, and right now he didn't much care about the details.

"Alright," he said, "we're at Grimmauld Place. Lovely. Now, can anyone tell me what's going on?"

Mad-Eye glared at him.
"Later, Potter. First safety, then talk."

The paranoid ex-Auror led them up to the front door of the newly-revealed house, wand constantly at the ready. He opened the door, and waved them inside.
"Be very quiet inside, Potter – I'll explain why later."

Harry shrugged and entered. In the hissing glow of old-fashioned gas lights, the entrance hall was oppressive – the wallpaper was both faded and grimy, the carpet was featureless black shadow, and he saw with some horror that there was an umbrella stand that seemed to have been made from a severed troll leg. What the hell? He looked inquisitively at Tonks, the only person he felt inclined to trust right now.

Tonks shrugged apologetically, and mouthed "Later." Harry tuned out again, sleepwalking through the next few minutes until he entered the bedroom where Ron and Hermione were waiting.

"Harry!"

Harry reflexively ducked behind the doorframe as a figure tried to tackle him. A moment later he saw Hermione fall full-length on the floor just outside the bedroom door, and he relaxed.
"Sorry, Hermione. Bit twitchy these days."

Hermione stood up slowly, seeming to realise that something wasn't right in the rhythm of their friendship.
"Harry? It's really good to see you, are you OK?"

He slumped against the doorframe, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.
"No Hermione, I'm really not OK. Cedric bloody died, alright? Right in front of me, and there was nothing I could do to save him. Then Crouch kidnaps me the moment I get back, and tries to kill me, and then bloody Fudge refuses to believe a word of it. And then I'm stuck at Privet Drive for a month, locked in my room, alone with my thoughts. I mean, I'm not dumb. I know I have a tendency to brood. But what the hell else am I supposed to do, locked up on my own with no one but poor Cedric for company. He never abandoned me, anyway."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but Harry overrode her.
"And then I tried to be the good boy, just get whatever information I could from the way I'm allowed to communicate with my friends. And what do I get? 'Sorry, can't tell you anything.' Not good enough, Hermione, really not good enough. You're lucky I'm not completely mental by now, and it looks like you're having some doubts about that anyway, doesn't it? Aren't you?"

Hermione shrank back away from his fury, and Harry stalked into the bedroom. He dropped his trunk on the nearer bed, and turned to Ron.
"Well, mate? Got any good explanations for me?"

Ron shrugged uncomfortably.
"Dumbledore, mate – he wouldn't let us tell you anything. Said it wasn't safe, said you needed time to deal with Cedric's death."

Harry spun around and slammed the heel of his palm into the doorframe, as hard as he could. He felt the room itself shiver in response, and almost smiled before he turned back to address Ron more calmly.
"Ron... You have no idea how much it hurt, being abandoned by my friends when I needed you the most. I mean, I get that Dumbledore told you to, and believe me I'll be talking to him about that, but... Bloody hell, Ron, aren't I more important to you than Dumbledore? Couldn't you have found some way? I know Hermione could have got word to me by Muggle means if she'd wanted to, though I suppose she'd never think to go against Dumbledore in the first place. But you, Ron! You've been with me through everything – you're fine with breaking the rules, I know you are. So why couldn't you do that for me, do something for me, this one time when I really needed you?"

Ron sat down heavily on one of the beds, staring at nothing in particular.
"Alright, I was wrong. Look, I'm sorry, Harry. It's just hard, going against Dumbledore. I mean, we've been stuck here in Sirius' house – can't go anywhere without a bloody guard, and even the house is scary. Everything's danger this, danger that, and make sure you do what Dumbledore says or you'll get yourself killed. You don't know what it's been like, mate."

Harry shrugged, and tried to smile at his old friend.
"Look, I didn't mean to go mad at you. But it really hurt, alright? And it's going to take me a while to deal with that."

He turned to the doorway, where a thoroughly miserable-looking Hermione was still standing awkwardly. He nodded faintly.
"Same goes for you, Hermione. I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I'm really sorry I scared you like that. But it still hurts, and I can't just make it not."

He glanced around, paused for a moment, then stood up decisively.
"I'm going to go explore the house."

"Harry, no!" said Hermione.

Harry stared at her.
"It's just a house, Hermione. I'm a wizard. I have a wand. I know how to use it. But alright, I'll be careful. You may have noticed how good I am at that, now."

With that he slipped past her onto the landing, then turned and continued on up the stairs.

Wanting to get away from everyone, Harry went all the way up to the top of the stairs. On the landing there he found two doors. He opened the nearer one, muttered a quick "Lumos" under his breath, and then stepped cautiously into the room.

The room was decorated in green and silver, and remarkably clean. Harry figured this must have been Sirius' brother's room – he'd been in Slytherin, hadn't he? Harry looked around quickly to make sure there were no obvious dangers, then threw himself down on the bed.
"Colloportus. Nox."

And then, since he hadn't been sleeping well for the last month, he promptly fell asleep.

Harry woke up abruptly, scrambling for his wand even as he looked towards the sound of the unlocking door. Unfortunately he dropped his wand on the floor, and when he looked up again the door was already open. Faintly silhouetted in the doorway was a figure that could only be Tonks. Harry groaned.

"Uh... hi. Is everyone panicking about me or something now?"

Tonks laughed.
"Not really, no. Once in a while we remember that Mad-Eye can see through walls. Saves a lot of time, that does."

Harry nodded.
"So he sent you up to get me?"

"Well, yeah. It's getting late, and you really do need to come down for dinner. Aren't you hungry?"

"I suppose. I sort of got used to not eating much, to be honest. Got out of the habit."

Tonks' hair darkened suddenly to a deep, angry red.
"Not great hosts, those Muggles?"

"Not so's you'd notice, no. Why'd your hair just turn red?"

"I'm a Metamorphmagus – I can change my appearance whenever I like, without spells or potions or anything. It's pretty rare."

"Cool! Wish I could do that – I'd get rid of this bloody scar. Might even give myself some muscle or something."

Tonks sighed.
"Not really as cool as you might think, to be honest. Just makes me more of a novelty act – full Auror now, and still no one takes me seriously. Plus, men always want me to be their stupid fantasies. Big boobs, red hair, whatever they're into. No one ever just wants plain old me – they just want who I can pretend to be."

Harry stared at her.
"Plain? What are you talking about? Tonks, you... You... Look. Fine. To me. Alright? And I've never even seen you change your face, so it must be the real you that I'm seeing."

Tonks didn't blush or look away. Instead she stared intently at Harry, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. She didn't find it.
"Thanks, Harry. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while."

Harry snorted.
"Um, don't take this the wrong way, but do you spend all your time with morons?"

"You know, sometimes I wonder the same thing. And also how old I have to get before the magic switch flips in people's heads and I get to be a bloody adult. Gah, it's so frustrating."

Harry smiled bitterly.
"Tell me about it. Three times I've faced Voldemort, four if you count the first one. Faced a Troll when I was eleven, stuck my wand up its nose. Faced a Basilisk when I was twelve, shoved a big bloody sword through its head. Bugger bit me too – lucky Dumbledore's phoenix was there. Anyway, that was also the time I killed Voldemort again. Then I face Dementors three times in third year – even chased off like a hundred at once. And then the bloody Tournament. Faced a dragon, stole its egg. Swam to the bottom of the Lake – I couldn't even swim you know – and then I had to face down Merpeople in their own home. And still I'm such a good little boy, such an obedient idiot. And then Voldemort, again, but this time with all his Death Eaters. And Cedric. Merlin, Cedric. I am so sorry, I just couldn't. I just couldn't save him."

Harry took a deep breath, visibly calming himself.
"And then I escape certain death yet again, and then the fucking Minister tells me it didn't happen, I'm just imagining Cedric's cold. Lifeless. Body. In my hands."

He let out an explosive breath, not even trying to calm himself now.
"And then it's back to the Dursleys – starvation rations, emotional abuse, and forget any hope of talking to my friends. Forget even sending letters, because Albus Bloody Dumbledore says it's too dangerous for Harry Potter to know anything. You know what's dangerous, Tonks? Voldemort. You know what else is dangerous? Dementors. Dementors in Little Whinging, what the hell? And then I save my cousin's worthless life, and next thing I know I'm expelled from Hogwarts, but wait, no I'm not, but then I'm facing trial for saving my cousin's life.

"And in all of this, does any adult even once consider that maybe I'm not just a helpless child anymore? That maybe, just maybe, it might possibly be a good idea for me to have some freaking clue what's going on? No. No, of course not. I am the Boy Who Lived, and I must be protected at all costs. Well, protected from ever actually knowing anything, anyway. We're a bit less clear on me being starved by Muggles who wish I didn't exist – no protection from that. Or Dementors in Little Whinging, conveniently right in the alley with me and my cousin. I mentioned that, didn't I? I mean, come on. What do I have to do?"

He curled up on the bed, voice muffled as he continued.
"And Cedric, it all comes back to Cedric now. All bloody summer, couldn't get him out of my head. He didn't deserve to die. And I didn't save him. And do you think maybe I could have had some friends to help me deal with that? Nup! Not a chance. Merlin, Cedric..."

The violent energy seemed finally to drain from Harry. He went limp where he lay, and began to shake softly. Leaning closer in the near-darkness, Tonks saw silent tears dripping from the bridge of his nose. She stuck a dim light to the ceiling above them, then shut and locked the door with a few more waves of her wand. Then she stared helplessly at Harry, completely at a loss for how to handle a broken hero. Harry continued to cry, apparently oblivious to her presence, and finally she reached a decision. She stood up quietly and walked around the bed.

She snuggled in behind him on top of the covers, as gently as she could. He tensed for a long few seconds, then suddenly rolled over and clung to her desperately. She felt her shoulder becoming damp from his face pressed against it, and rocked with him as he trembled more violently. Gradually he calmed down, before finally falling asleep. Tonks had to smile, seeing his face relax for the first time since she met him.

She held still for a long moment, considering her options, considering her priorities. She cast another few spells on the door before sending her jackrabbit Patronus downstairs with a terse message. Then, realising just how exhausted she was, she laid her head down on the pillow and passed out instantly.

Harry woke slowly, peaceful from the best night's sleep he'd had in a long time. He became aware that he was cuddling something warm and soft, though he'd be a lot more comfortable if his neck weren't bent awkwardly sideways. He opened his eyes.

Right in front of his face was Tonks' face, peaceful in sleep and only drooling slightly. He realised that he could feel her breath on his lips. Her breath smelled like... Well actually, her breath smelled like morning, and not in a good way. Harry smiled faintly, mocking his inner romantic. He supposed his own breath would be similarly unpleasant. Not that he actually minded hers though, come to think. Weird.

Harry took the chance to study Tonks' face – he figured she wouldn't mind. He'd never been so close to anyone's face before, or at least not in a way that let him stare like this. Her skin was flawless, as near as he could tell in the soft light filtering in from outside. He realised he had no clue how to describe facial features, except in terms of his own aesthetic response to them. She had a nose and a mouth, and he liked the way they looked. It occurred to him that he might be a bit biased about that, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. This moment was enough. Her hair, he noticed, was now a much more peaceful red-brown colour. He smiled.

Her eyes suddenly flew open, and her arms tightened around him. Her face was tense for a moment as her glance flickered around, and then she relaxed and smiled.
"Morning."

"Hi. Um... Should we be panicking or awkward or something now?"

She chuckled.
"Don't see the need, really. I'm not going to tell anyone what you said, and I don't think you'll tell anyone what I said. And really, didn't we both need a hug?"

She leaned forward slightly to kiss the tip of his nose, and he blushed. She laughed.
"You're so easy to embarrass, Harry. Voldemort tries to kill you? No problem. Random woman kisses your nose? Oh no, how do I deal with this?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at her, then leaned forward slightly to poke the tip of her nose with it.
"You're not a random woman, Tonks. You know that."

She grinned.
"C'mon, you met me yesterday. Are you saying you've formed a deep and specific attachment?"

Harry shrugged, which she felt more than saw.
"Of course, Tonks. You take me seriously. After all this bullshit I've been through, finally I've found someone who actually takes me seriously. So yeah, not a random woman."

Tonks looked thoughtful.
"That's a good point. I mean, I suppose I feel the same way. Bit sad really – full Auror and all, and you're the first person ever to take me seriously."

"At least you know your parents. Um, don't you?"

She laughed.
"Yes Harry, I know my parents. Dad's a newsreader in the Muggle world, and Mother has never found enough to distract her from playing with my life. I love her, but she's terrifying. Her sisters are Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, to give you some idea, and Mother's no less formidable than those two. She's just saner, nicer, and frankly a whole lot more competent."

"Wow."

"Yep. She's the one who insisted on naming me "Nymphadora", and still calls me that after a lifetime of me begging her not to. She's a good mother in some ways, don't get me wrong, but I'll never be an adult in her eyes. I'll never be smart enough, or strong enough, or anything enough really. And Dad'll never go against her, and anyway to him I'm just a childish version of his wife. Anyway, literally no one has ever taken me seriously until now. So, uh, thanks."

Harry grinned, leaning forward slightly to brush his nose against hers.
"You're welcome. So, want to tell me what's going on here? This summer, I mean, and all that. All the stuff Dumbledore doesn't think I ought to know, and why he thinks that."

She nodded.
"We're in Sirius' house, Grimmauld Place. He grew up here. Hates the place actually, and honestly I can't blame him. Anyway, we're here 'cause it's the safest place. The Black family – that's Mother's family by the way – had this place warded with every defence you can think of and quite a lot that you couldn't. And then Dumbledore added the Fidelius on top of that, which is why you couldn't even see it until you'd read that note from him. Oh, and we're in Regulus' old room – that's Sirius' brother, who was a Death Eater. Happy Families, uh huh.

"Um... OK, so 'we' is mostly the Order of the Phoenix. That's a secret organisation that Dumbledore runs, to fight against the Death Eaters when the Ministry isn't getting the job done. He started it in the last war, but of course I wasn't in it then. We've been guarding you all summer –"

"You WHAT?"

Tonks recoiled slightly, staring at the suddenly-furious boy in her arms.
"Um... Harry, you're scaring me."

Harry sighed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I, I know it's not your fault, and I didn't want to take it out on you. But seriously, guarding me against what? Didn't save me from my bloody relatives, did it? Didn't get me fed. Didn't even save me from the Dementors, and isn't that about as clear a magical threat as you get? So I had a miserable summer, then monsters nearly sucked out my soul, and now apparently the Ministry wants to snap my wand because I fought back against the Dementors. I mean, thanks for the protection. Thanks a lot. Maybe next time you guys could give me something more useful, like maybe a chocolate teapot. Which would have been really handy the other day, come to think."

Tonks' lips twitched violently for a few seconds, before she gave in and started laughing outright. Harry watched her in bemusement – he knew he should be offended, but somehow he couldn't quite manage it. Eventually she calmed down enough to talk again.

"Sorry Harry, but that was pretty funny. And yeah, I agree with you. I feel like Dumbledore must have some really good reason for keeping you at Privet Drive, but he hasn't told us anything. It's weird, 'cause he's usually so brilliant. Anyway, yeah, you're here now. I've been saying all along that we should have just brought you here, but of course no one listens to me. I reckon we should bring you in on our meetings too, but three guesses how much Dumbledore listens to me about that."

Harry nodded.
"Alright, fair enough. What else do you do?"

"Well, we're also guarding the Department of Mysteries. Apparently there's a prophecy there that Voldemort wants."

"Is it about me?"

"Probably. Dumbledore never actually said though."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. Really doesn't like giving out information, does he?"

Tonks snorted.
"Nup."

She paused.
"Y'know, you still haven't asked me to show you any of my Metamorph stuff. Aren't you curious?"

"Not really, no. I mean, I'm fine with the face I'm looking at now. I... Look, I meant it before, Tonks. You look... fine. Um. Yeah. Fine."

They both felt it then, the oppressive thickening of nervousness and desire. They lay together in untouchable silence, staring into each other's eyes. The seconds slid by, as they each agonised. Harry was acutely aware of Tonks' breath on his face, of the luminous perfection of her skin. Tonks for her part really looked at this boy for the first time. Worry-lines already forming. A scar that was less iconic and more just plain ugly up close. And those eyes – Merlin, those eyes! Brilliant green, even in this soft light – in the dimness of the room they seemed to glow with some inner passion. Which, this being Harry Potter, maybe they actually were. Around those eyes she saw the marks of time and tide – the signs of his adult struggles, childhood long since left behind. She bent forward slightly and kissed the angry jagged scar on his forehead.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he grinned uncertainly as she drew back once more.

A pause, and then.
"Is that really the most attractive part of me to kiss?"

She laughed.
"No, you idiot – it's ugly. But you're not."

Harry smiled, seeming somehow relieved.
"Thanks. For saying the scar's ugly, I mean. It's the Boy Who Lived, so of course everyone loves it. I hate it. I hate the Boy Who Lived. I hate being the Boy Who Lived. And seriously, you're like the first person who's ever called this scar ugly. Except Malfoy, and he doesn't count – he's just saying whatever he thinks will annoy me or make him look good or, I don't know, whatever seems like a good idea in Malfoy's head."

Tonks grinned nervously.
"Glad you approve, then. Want to suggest a more attractive part for me to kiss?"

Harry blushed.
"Um..."

She kissed his nose again, but tenderly this time. Harry grinned broadly, still blushing.

She bent towards his lips, then suddenly stopped in horror.
"Oh god, my breath must be awful!"

She grabbed her wand, and cast a muttered spell on her own mouth and then on Harry's.
"Right, that should be better. Sorry about that!"

Harry shrugged.
"I didn't mind, honestly. Still wanted to kiss you."

Tonks blushed.
"Really?"

"Really. I mean, obviously."

She smiled, and then she began to kiss him properly.