Tonks flew in low over the moors, the low-lying clouds providing ample cover from the prying eyes of any Muggles, unlikely as it was to find anyone outdoors in this kind of weather. She thought longingly of the rather large pot of hot chocolate Remus had been making as she had left for work that morning. The Impervious spell she had cast on her cloak before leaving Shipley had kept her dry from the steady drizzle, but the cold still seeped into her clothes.

As she approached Ilkely Moor the land began to rise steeply, scattered with rocky outcroppings. A bit further north, she could just make out the river valley that marked the village of Upper Flagley. Her flight paralleled the Moor Road, and as she crested the hill the sun broke free from the clouds, glinting off the glass and steel structure of a shopping centre. All around the structure were signs of construction – yellow Muggle earthmovers crawled like ants amongst mounds of freshly turned earth and stone. A thin line of smoke rose from one side of the site, where a lone vehicle had been flipped over on its side.

Tonks landed her broom behind an outcropping of gritstone, hiding it in a crevice between two large rocks. She morphed her hair long and black, speckled liberally with grey, and pulled it into a tight bun worthy of Madame Pince at her most severe. A conjured a pair of glasses completed the effect. Her jeans and jumper were transformed into respectable charcoal trousers and a white blouse. Looking ruefully at her boots, she finally decided that any Muggle traipsing around the Moors in this weather would have to wear sensible shoes anyway, and that she could safely leave them alone. Finally, she morphed her Auror cloak into a long black mackintosh and headed down towards the Muggle road that intersected the construction site.

After half a mile or so a dirt track veered off of the main road, in the direction of the wreckage she had seen earlier. She followed this track a few hundred yards to where several Muggle trucks were parked alongside the road. "What's going on here?" she demanded as she approached half a dozen obviously agitated Muggle workers.

"Who're you, then?" demanded one of the men, whom she took to be the supervisor.

"Regional Site Inspector Black," she replied, flashing her Auror badge, glamoured to impress all but the most observant of Muggles.

"Great, I ask for the police and get a ruddy bureaucrat instead. That's just typical, innit." The man sighed and removed his hat, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

"Why don't you just tell me what's going on, and let's see what I can do about it."

"Two of me men 'ave been attacked by some barmy old crone, that's what's going on! Look at 'em!" Two beefy men, covered in boils and looking quite miserable, were sitting on the bed of one of the pickups. "She come outta nowhere this morning, screamin' foul language and goin' on about how we'd killed her tree. Her tree, mind! Out in t'middle of this miserable Moor and she owns it. Then she starts flingin' dung at us! So I send Murphy and Rawlins, here, just to calm her down, y'see..." Tonks noted with some skepticism that, minus the boils, Murphy and Rawlins appeared far more suited for wading into a pub brawl than mollifying an irate old woman. "... and she goes and douses 'em with some kind of ... mol-ee-tov cocktail or somethin'."

"Shoulda known," mumbled one of the injured men. Tonks thought it could be Rawlins.

"What?"

"Folks in village tried to warn us, didn't they? 'Don't mess with th' old tree witch,' they said. 'Seven times seven years bad luck –'"

"Don' be daft. You let some old bag get the best of ya, and all of a sudden it's all witches and curses and the like. What'll it be next, werewolves? Anyway, so we're movin' 'em out of harm's way and the next thing you know, BOOM! She blew up the bloody dozer! We're already three months behind on this 'ere Centre, any more delays will be my job. So you tell me, Regional Site Inspector Black, what are you goin' to do about a batshit crazy old woman what's got her hands on chemical weapons and dynamite?"

"What's your name?"

"Dawson, Reginald Dawson."

"Well, Mr. Dawson, I'm going to go talk to her."

"Is the whole world gone mad? Did ya not hear a word of what –"

Tonks hated confunding Muggles, especially this early in an investigation. But the man's bluster just was not what she needed today. No matter that she'd like to strangle the old hag herself for making her come all the way up to West Yorkshire in this weather. She followed the dirt track towards the smoking 'dozer.'

"Hullo?"

Thwap!

"Bloody hell!" Something the consistency of mud and smelling suspiciously like Aberforth's back room hit her square in the chest. Tonks cast a second Impervious charm on her clothing, only to get knocked flat on her back by an Impedimento Curse. "Shit!" She risked lifting her head just long enough to look for a likely way around the disabled machine and, spotting an old oak tree a few yards away, she apparated.

As soon as she appeared next to the tree, Tonks cast a quick Petrificus Totalus at the hag. She threw in a tongue tying curse for good measure. As she cautiously approached the smoking wreckage it became apparent that the hag was ancient, and more pitiable than frightening. Her frame was thin and bent with age, covered by a filthy shift made from crudely stitched sheepskin. Her skull was not much more than skin and bones with a few wisps of grey hair framing her sallow face. Bulging, pale eyes glared up at Tonks, reminding her disturbingly of Kreacher. 'The old Kreacher,' Tonks reminded herself firmly, 'the new and improved Kreacher cooked you dinner last week.'

"All right, I'm going to take you to that tree over there, and we're going to have a little chat. Once I release you there'll be no funny business, understand? I'm really not in the mood to go chasing hags around the moors today."

The creature glared but nodded her assent. 'If looks could kill,' Tonks thought. She levitated the hag over to the tree and propped her up against its trunk before removing the hex.

"Now, what's your name?"

"Agatha," spat the hag.

"All right, Agatha. My name is Tonks and I'm here to clear up this mess. Now why don't you tell me why an old hag such as yourself would want to cause so much trouble that it brings the Auror division down on your neck."

"Them's what's the problem! Goin' around, rootin' up people's homes like that. Just look at my tree." She indicated the large oak under which they were sitting. On closer inspection Tonks could see that it listed slightly to one side, and that there was a large gash along the trunk. "This 'ere's been my home for nigh on a hundred years. Now where'm I s'posed to live?

"In 'ere day and night, making all kinds of noise, an' t'smell enough to make you sick. But Agatha don' bother 'em none, no, I knows me place. Just ask anyone in the village. A nice lamb ev'ry once in a while from th' local farmers is all I ask, and I leave 'em alone."

All at once her face glowered malevolently, and Tonks could easily imagine the fearsome hag she once must have been. "Up 'til this morning, see, when they knocked down me tree. A person's got a right to live, 'aven't I? Been 'ere a hundred years, that ought to count for som'fin!" With a great snort she wiped her bulbous nose on her shift, nearly in tears.

Tonks sighed and looked around. The Shopping Centre was a shiny metal box rising up out of the moor, its sharp lines of glass and steel jarring against the rolling hills. From the path that the bulldozer had been cutting, it appeared that the tree was in the way of an access road, which curved around to the back of the Centre. For deliveries, probably.

Her sympathy, for once, was with the hag. Agatha certainly didn't ask to have a new Shopping Centre plopped down in the middle of her moor. The problem was that Tonks didn't know how much she could do about it. "Not legally, at least." She gazed again at the tree. Now that she looked more closely, she could see a gaping hole that must be the entrance to the crone's lair hidden within its roots.

"Agatha, I've an idea. I'm going to need some help from a friend of mine, but I think we can save your tree. Expecto Patronum."

Agatha gave a small cry as the familiar grey shape leapt forth from Tonks' wand. It trotted around the tree before coming to sit expectantly before her. Tonks ruffled its neck affectionately and then bent to whisper a message into its ear.

"Coo, that's a nice one, that is," whispered Agatha, her eyes wide as the spectre loped over the hills and disappeared. "What do we do now?"

"Now we wait," answered Tonks.

It wasn't long before the shimmering form of a tortoise appeared crawling towards them. Agatha clapped in delight when it opened its mouth and spoke in Neville's voice. "I'm on my way, and I'm bringing some help. Look for us in about an hour."

"Okay, Agatha, I'm going back there to clean up some of that mess you've made. Can I trust you to wait here for me?"

"Got nowhere to go, 'ave I?"

That much, at least, was true.

A half hour later Tonks was back, having cured Murphy and Rawlins of their boils, and having cast more Confundus charms in one day than she had in the last year. Dawson and his crew were now under the impression that they had stumbled upon an illegal toxic waste dump and that 'Trade Union Representative' Black had granted them a day's leave with pay until it could be cleaned up. She had a feeling there was going to be hell to pay with Dawlish once this was all over.

She made herself comfortable under the tree facing the moor and prepared to wait.

"Do you have any children, dearie?"

Tonks bristled and sat up straighter. "What? Why? That's none of your business."

"Now, now, no need gettin' your robes in a twist. I'm not gonna eat the child. Typical, innit, assumin' the worst 'cause I'm a hag." Agatha sniffed and began to mumble to herself. "Haven't touched a hair on a child's head since 1903. Not since my own girl was born. Not that it matters, people always assume ..."

"Look, I'm sorry. It's been a bit of a rough day, you know?" Tonks tried to apologize, but the hag looked away, smacking her lips and muttering to herself. Tonks tried again. "We have a boy, Teddy. He's eighteen months. ... What's your daughter's name?"

At first Tonks didn't think she would answer, but after a moment Agatha sniffed again and said, "Agnes. 'Course, she's grown now, lives in Diagon Alley, got herself a nice lair underneath Borgin and Burkes." She sighed. "She don' get up here to visit very often..."

A motion on the horizon caught Tonks' attention. After a few minutes the growing speck resolved itself into Remus, with Neville clutching tightly behind him on the broomstick. Tonks stood up and dusted off her trousers, feeling lighter than she had all day. She walked over to where Remus had landed the broom.

"Wotcher."

"Hello." Remus gave her a crooked smile, the one that never failed to make her melt just a bit.

Neville was looking quite relieved to be back on the ground, and quite pleased with himself. "I brought Remus," he said unnecessarily.

"I can see that," Tonks grinned. "C'mon, let me introduce you to our local hag."

"Can you do anything, Neville?"

Neville was inspecting the tree carefully, peering at its roots on hands and knees. "I think so. The root system is distressed, but there doesn't appear to be too much damage." He mumbled a spell and the gash on the side of the tree sealed itself. "From its girth alone I'd guess it must be at least 500 years old. It wouldn't be unusual for a tree to live that long as host to a magical creature. The thing is, a tree like this, so well-established, won't take well to being moved."

"Then we'll just have to move the road," Tonks answered with more confidence than she felt. Neville nodded and continued his inspection of the tree, murmuring spells and asking occasional questions of Agatha, who seemed quite pleased with all the attention.

Tonks moved to stand next to Remus, who was stood to one side watching Neville with a slight smile on his face.

"You're proud of him, aren't you?"

"He's come a long way from the shy boy I knew at Hogwarts."

She leaned her head against his chest as he massaged her shoulders. "How's Teddy?" she mumbled into his shirt.

Remus either had extraordinary hearing, or, more likely, knew exactly what was on her mind. "Much better. The tooth has finally sprouted. Molly sent over a teething tonic shortly after you left, and he's been right as rain ever since."

"Am I a bad mother for wishing that he'd wean himself sooner rather than later?"

His low chuckle vibrated against her cheek. "Only if I'm a bad father for being somewhat jealous that my wife spends all night nursing our son whenever he's cutting a tooth." Remus placed a kiss on top of her head. "I've missed you these last few nights."

"I've missed you, too. Merlin, what a day." She leaned back to look him in the eyes. "What brings you out here, anyway?"

"I was meeting with Kingsley at the Ministry when I bumped into Neville. He mentioned your predicament, and I thought I might be able to lend my expertise. Being somewhat of an expert in the area of Dark Creatures," he added with a wry smile.

For her part, Agatha had stopped listening to Neville and was staring at Remus intently. "Not dark so much as a bit grey, I think." She barked out a laugh and favoured them all with a toothless grin.

An hour later they had righted the tree and reinforced the entrance to Agatha's cave. After securing her promise to leave the construction crews alone, at least for the time being, Remus cast a Muggle repelling charm around the tree.

"I'll go ahead and report back to Dawlish," offered Neville.

"Right, thanks, Neville," Tonks answered absently. She was staring intently at the shopping centre taking shape a few hundred yards away. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it.

"Would you like a ride back, Neville?" Remus offered.

"No, thanks, Prof – erm, Remus. I can Apparate from here. I've never really gotten the hang of brooms." With a crack, he was gone.

Remus came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "What is it?"

"Something's not right. Where's the road?"

"Aren't we standing on it?"

Tonks shook her head and pointed along the dirt road carved out by the bulldozer. "This is the access road, right? It runs into the back of the centre for deliveries. You can see where it intersects with the main Muggle road about a quarter mile behind us. But where is the main entrance? The centre itself looks almost complete, but there's only the one gravel lane for the construction vehicles. Where's the car park going to go? And why build a shopping centre here? There are no Muggle highways nearby, just the Moor Road."

Remus dropped his hands from her shoulders and turned to follow the path of the two lane Muggle road as it disappeared into the valley. "You're right. Something about this is off."

"And that Muggle worker, Rawlins, he said the villagers warned them about Agatha. But I'd hardly call Shipley a village, would you?"

"You think he meant Upper Flagley? But that's north of here, on the other side of the moor. And what would a Muggle construction crew be doing in a wizarding village?"

"I think we need to find out."

"Oh aye, I remember the Muggles. They gave me some o' that funny paper money." The barkeeper indicated the five pound note tacked above the bar, next to a picture of Kingsley Shacklebolt. "I didn't bother 'em none about it, seemed like they were 'avin' enough trouble as 'tis just dealin' with Figalilly."

"Who's Figalilly?"

"Altair Figalilly, owns a clothing store over on Owl Park Road. T'is his idea, this whole mess with the shoppin' centre. Daft, if you ask me. M'not surprised Agatha'd have a fit over it sooner or later. It's what we tried to warn 'em about t'other day, didn't we, Rob."

"Aye, we did."

"Thanks, fellas, you've been ace."

"Always happy to help out a member of law enforcement, aren't we, Rob."

"Aye, we are. 'Specially one's as pretty as you are, love."

"Ta." Tonks stepped outside just as Remus was exiting the inn across the street. She waved and waited for him to cross over.

"The barkeeper remembers the Muggles. He said they were meeting with an Altair Figalilly. 'That tosser puttin' up the shopping centre,' as one of the regulars put it."

"The innkeeper spoke with the Muggles, as well. They asked where they might find a petrol station, and he directed them across the river to Lower Flagley. He has a similar opinion of Figalilly and his 'damned centre.'"

"All right, let's go see what the tosser has to say for himself."

It was easy enough to find Altair Figalilly's Fashion Emporium: if the large gold eagle above the door hadn't been clue enough, the flashing yellow sign advertising the latest in Muggle fashions would have given it away. Tonks directed Remus' attention to the poster in the window – an artist's rendition of the new 'Windmere Centre'.

The shop was brightly lit and sparsely furnished by Wizard standards. Expensive Muggle dresses hung on a few racks under pale peach walls. It was the kind of shop Andromeda would have called "tastefully done." Remus rang the bell on the counter, and a man sharply dressed in a Muggle three-piece suit came out of the back room.

"Good afternoon. How may I help you? Something for Madame, perhaps? As you can see, we carry all the latest in Muggle fashions."

"Mr. Figalilly, I'm with the Auror Division. You filed a complaint this morning?"

Figalilly's reserved manner evaporated immediately. "Oh, thank Merlin! Did you get rid of that troublesome old hag?"

Tonks shared a glance with Remus, whose raised eyebrow spoke volumes. "We've ... assessed the situation, and there's no immediate danger. But we do have a few questions. We understand that the shopping centre is your project?"

"Yes, it's quite exciting, isn't it? Muggle fashions have become all the rage since the end of the war." He reached under the counter top and retrieved a rather long scroll, indicating that Remus should hold one side down as he rolled it open. "The wizarding world's first shopping centre, and it's just up the road in Ilkely Moor!"

"Look here, we'll have Muggle clothing, everything off the rack of course; Muggle furnishings; a Muggle apothecary, Muggle books and music, even a Muggle food court! And of course the most popular wizarding shops, as well. All within the convenience of one wizard-friendly location. Why, we've even succeeded in negotiating for a branch of Gringotts to open in the basement, so you can convert your galleons into pounds right there on the premises!"

"And you hired a Muggle construction firm because ..."

"Why for authenticity, of course! Wizards are rubbish at building anything contemporary. Give us some ancient cottage built of stone and mortar and we can turn it into a manor worthy of the Queen herself. But steel and glass don't mix well with magic. You need Muggles to create something clean, something modern."

"What about the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Oh, but this will be an exclusively wizarding shopping centre, protected with the standard Muggle repelling charms. We're going to hire Squibs to work in the shops – dressed as Muggles, of course."

"So, you are going to cater to the Muggle fashion craze, without any wizards ever actually having to interact with Muggles?" Tonks looked at him incredulously.

Remus shook his head. "That's ..."

"Brilliant marketing strategy?"

"Highly disturbing on any number of levels," finished Remus.

"Now see here, I've cleared this with the Ministry, I have all necessary permits." Figalilly rolled up the plans and shoved a stack of parchments across the counter at them. "Why, the young man I spoke with at the Ministry was quite enthusiastic about the idea."

Tonks scanned the parchments quickly, snorting in disbelief when she reached the signature at the end.

"Let me guess ..." offered Remus

"Signed Percival I. Weasley," she confirmed. "He's right, though, everything does appear to be in order. That still leaves us with the problem of what to do about Agatha's tree."

"I've had a thought about that. If what Neville said is true, that tree may well be the oldest continuously occupied hag lair in all of Britain. In fact, given the age of the tree, I wouldn't be surprised if Agatha were a descendent of Black Annis herself."

"Wait, I thought that Black Annis was from Leicstershire?"

"No, that's just a Muggle legend. The woman the Muggles call Black Annis was actually St. Agnes, a nun who was ostracized for working with lepers. Didn't you pay any attention in History of Magic?" he teased.

"What about that hag up in Deadmarsh, the one who calls herself Annis Black, then?"

"Well known pretender. She's only been around for about eighty years," Remus countered.

"What about my shopping centre?!" Figalilly cried, looking as if they'd both gone mad.

Remus looked surprised to see he was still there. "Oh, well. I don't see why the shopping centre can't remain where it is. You'll just have to move the road. A 100 yard set-back should be sufficient."

"And sending a lamb or two Agatha's way in consideration of her trouble wouldn't hurt, either," Tonks added.

"Move the road! Do you realize what that's going to cost?"

"Mr. Figalilly you do realize how seriously the Ministry takes the preservation of magical relics and historic sites? I'd consider myself lucky if I were you that the entire project doesn't get cancelled." When she wished to, Tonks could channel her mother to great effect.

Figalilly looked helplessly from Tonks to Remus and back to Tonks. His shoulders sagged. "Yes, yes, of course."

Once outside the shop, Tonks let out a long breath. "A Wizard shopping centre." She shook her head in disbelief. "Did we really just save Agatha's tree?"

"Yes, I believe we did."

Tonks let out another sigh, this time of satisfaction. "We're pretty impressive, Mr. Lupin."

"I'd have to agree, Mrs. Lupin. Shall we go home?"

"Only if you promise we get to sleep in the same bed tonight."

"I believe that can be arranged."