Fear and Loathing in Romania
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not, or ever will be, mine. Do not allow yourself to think otherwise…The title is also not my own invention. It's just a blatant rip-off of the film Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Rating: R (language, violence, sex)
Summary: Tonks is begrudgingly sent to Romania to fetch Charlie Weasley and bring him back to the Order. Everything that can go wrong manages to go wrong and the two find themselves running for their lives, without magic, from both Death Eaters and the Muggle police and somehow manage to re-discover each other along the way.
Author's Note: Here it is: My grand attempt at a Tonks/Charlie fic. I'm attempting to make them human, more than just the two-dimensional personas everyone has come to associate them with. So please, by all means, let me know what you think of it.
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Chapter One: Two Chemical Substances
"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." – Carl Jung
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Her nails are chipped. But she can always make them grow.
The house is settling and creaking all around her, as she sits there, alone, in a faded armchair, idly pulling at its stuffing. She gazes around at her surroundings, the gloominess permeating her mood. Decaying curtains and rusting metal. Rotting wood and furniture in utter disrepair. Home to a creature that once plotted the overthrow of his late master; once taking orders from a portrait that continues to scream through the day, the night, of traitors and betrayal, of family and of disappointment. She died years ago, but her resentment still lingers on. Heads of fallen servants adorn the cavernous halls, staring at their fellow fallen comrades. It's a house without a soul.
And she hates it. Tonks hates this place more than anything.
Headquarters, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It's own unique circle of hell. If there really is a hell, she ponders, then quickly moves on in her head, side-stepping the kind of theological debate she once shared with her father. Before. Everything went to shreds.
There's supposed to be a meeting tonight. The members of the Order, some of the most powerful wizards and witches of their time. Convening in the belly of a monster. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place: Former Home to the Dark Wizards.
She finds it ridiculously ironic that they're using this house, the one-time home of her cousin, the home of the Blacks, as their meeting place. She laughs to think of them, the long-dead, pure-blood Blacks, rolling in their graves six feet under.
"Don't be so morbid," she chides herself, out-loud. When you're constantly surrounded by death it's hard not to think of it. But the few remaining doxies don't answer and either does the boggart that she knows is hiding in the draw. She wonders how they managed to miss that one when they were cleaning. She'll deal with it later.
She can hear the clang of pots and pans, the clink of ancient china and cutlery. She knows Molly is in there. But doubts that she's invited. Merlin love the Weasley matriarch, and she knows he must, but she can't ever seem to do anything right around that woman. It wasn't her fault that she had tripped and dropped that set of dishes. Or the cauldron full of stew. Or the pitcher of butterbeer. The flask of firewhiskey she'd spilled in Moody's lap. The fresh laundry she dropped that tumbled down the dusty stairs. That entire set of silverware.
Maybe Molly had a point.
Insecurities weren't her specialty, but in this house they seemed to breed.
She had botched a recent mission for the Order. She accidentally let her cloak catch fire and kind of set off a chain of events that should have never been put into motion. She knew there'd be hell to pay for this one. They knew that all that "cloak and dagger" stuff made her nervous and when she got nervous she got clumsier than usual. But it was you who had insisted on going in the first place.
"Oh, shut up."
"You know, they say that talking to yourself is really the first sign of insanity." She looked up and was met with the customary Weasley red hair and freckles. Only this Weasley had the hair in a ponytail, an earring and only what she could call the coolest boots in the world. She was instantly jealous.
"Well, Bill, at least I'll have a name for what it is that's exactly wrong with me." She smiled. She liked Bill. Not liked Bill, but liked him. He was like all the other Weasley's: good-natured, friendly and nice to talk to. She knew that he had been here, but hadn't seen much of him. She was too busy going out fucking up missions that should have been easy. You really need to get over that. She kept her mouth shut this time. Arguing with the voices in her head probably wasn't the best way to go.
"Is dinner almost ready?" She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she brought up the subject of food in her desperate attempt to change the subject. In her head. Naturally it went to food.
"Yeah. Should be ready in a few minutes. I think we're having some kind of meat pie."
"Fantastic. Your mum is such a good cook, Bill. Honestly, if I lived with you people I'd be just positively huge. She's ten times better than my mum is…used to be…" She trailed off. It was still too fresh. Her mother. Dying. Bill must have caught her slip-up because he gave her apologetic smile. She hated that. More than anything. The pity she received over losing her mother. She's not lost. She's just gone. Gone and never coming back. But she smiled in return, convincing him that she was fine, despite the emotions churning beneath.
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Sighing, he pulled himself out of bed, pulling on the sweater his mother had knit for him ages ago. An ancient Christmas present. Impressive that it still fits. It was old, and looked it too. But it was easily the most comfortable thing he owned.
It was a foggy morning. Strangely cool, with everything covered in that fine, grey mist. Coating the grass and the hills and the entire camp. It was almost eerie. But that might have been due to the fact it was only five in the morning and he was the only one up. Or so he liked to think.
He raised his hands above his head and lazily cracked his neck. He was sore. And beyond tired. Working with dragons was his dream, but some days it felt like it was too much. He missed the comforts of home. He missed his own bed, his own room. A bathroom with water pressure. His mother's food, his brothers' nagging. But that was how it used to be. They were all now basically living out of the dump that was the Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix, or so the letters said.
He left his tent and wandered down to the Mess Hall, nearly wrenching his ankle in a hole. He really needed to wake up. He really needed some coffee.
He pushed open the flap that served as a door and stepped inside, immediately receiving a slap on the back. "Charlie! Somebody's up early, eh?"
Charlie chuckled and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Yeah. Somehow got myself out of bed. Not quite sure how." He was the camp's notorious early-riser. And Will was the one who loved to tease him the most about it, he being on the night-shift and loving nothing more than sleeping through the morning. "Have you checked up on the Norwegian today?"
"Yeah. She's not sneezing those bloody fireballs anymore." Will shook his head, smiling slightly. "That was one fine fucking mess. But in the end, it turned out fine. Francis's arm is healing quite nicely, they say."
"Good to hear."
"Well, mate, I'm off. Don't singe yourself too bad today." Charlie smiled, waved, and watched him leave. Spinning around he found himself face to face with a boy, no more than twelve standing before him. Must be one the others' kid. Don't recognize him though. Maybe he's one of the Healers'. Or a local.
"Laurence wants to see you." And with that the kid turned and left. Charlie scratched his head and left, knowing that seeing the boss first thing in the morning is never good, and cursing himself for not grabbing a cup of coffee first.
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Tonks sat at the table, drumming her fingers on the table, lost in the beat of the Weird Sisters. She realized that Snape was giving her what she could only call "the death glare", holding his temples as though another couple beats might just be enough to make his head explode. Adding one more for good measure, she ceased.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was next to her, discussing some sort of dull Ministry business with Arthur Weasley. Mundungus Fletcher was staring into the bottom of his mug, looking utterly dazed with Hestia Jones looking curiously on at him. Moody was polishing his eye, making Tonks shudder slightly, and Emmeline Vance as well. Bill was arguing with Molly; she persisting on cutting his hair, and he simply not allowing it. McGonagall was speaking in low tones with Dumbledore while Remus Lupin sat off to the side. Looking sad, lost, aloof. She knew how he felt.
Glancing around the room, Tonks realized she didn't recognize about a good half of the people there. She hadn't realized that the Order had grown so much in size. She felt a flutter of hope deep within her.
Dumbledore stood, calling the meeting to order. His voice was softer than usual. He looks old. Old and tired. She felt a wave of pity for the man.
He was seated, and the meeting went its usual route. Ministry members discussed rumors they had overhead, spies filled them in on newly acquired information. Then they came to the part she had been dreading: reviewing past missions.
Her mission had been simple. To follow suspected Death Eater Johannes Windsor and report on his activities. Somewhere between Diagon Alley and his place in the swanky part of London, where you had no business being, she got a burst of adrenaline and decided to try and sneak in after him. Not only did she manage to trash half his flat, but blew her cover, and suspected the Order's as well. She wasn't looking forward to the berating she was about to receive.
She hadn't realized that she had been zoning out until Kingsely discreetly kicked her under the table. Her head shot up and she knew she was blushing. She could feel it. Flaming red all over. Oh, Merlin, I just want to crawl under the table and pretend nothing ever happened.
Dumbledore just smiled, congenial as always. That aged-to-perfection, all-knowing smile of his. "Nymphadora, we were just wanting to know what happened with Johannes Windsor."
She swallowed. Audibly so. "Well…" She inhaled. Courage. Courage. "I found him at Diagon Alley, over by Flourish and Blotts, talking to a man I didn't recognize. Turned out just to be some author of a book he was a fan of, or the like, and then he went to the Leaky Cauldron and stayed far too long, drinking firewhiskey like it's going out of style."
She's getting annoyed frowns and empty smiles. She's never felt so inadequate. "He met a girl there and he was going on and on about how successful his family is and blah blah blah, and was just positively obsessed over the fact that he was a pure-blood and how old and rich and pure his family was. Complely annoying git. Anyway, he gave this girl his address and told her to stop over some time. Well, I copied the address and after he apparated home, I decided to apparate on over too." She sees their expressions. Their shared look of fear as to where this story could possibly lead. Moody, especially. "And, well, I must have misjudged or something…"She can practically hear them all moaning. "And, well, I managed to catch his entire parlour on fire." She spits out the last part in a hurry to finish, terrified as to what comes next.
Moody's gaping at her. "What the bloody hell were you thinking going there in the first place? Rule Number One, Tonks! Rule Number One! Do not, under any circumstances put yourself in a situation you don't know how to get out of! There could have been a whole congregation of Death Eaters just waiting there. And then what? - -"
Dumbledore raises his hand, silencing the sputtering Auror. "That's enough, Moody. Please, continue, Nymphadora."
"Well, he, uh, smelled the smoke, and caught me in there. Had a bit of a duel. Managed to get him in a Full Body Bind. And then I…left." She squirms nervously in her seat.
"Did you at least check him for the Dark Mark?" Moody sounded aggravated. She cringes.
"No…" She didn't know how she had managed to squeak that single syllable out. The room filled with mutterings and sighs, grumbles and even harsher glares. She felt like she was shrinking, falling into the floor beneath them. And at the same time, she felt angry, bitter and resentful. She had made it out of there alive. That had been her primary goal. Yes, she had screwed up, but they could at least be happy that she was still here. She felt eight years old all over again. Being lectured by her father for not heeding his advice as her mother bandaged her skinned knees. Her mother…
"Alright, alright." Dumbledore was attempting to take charge of the scene. "A simple misstep. One failed mission doesn't mean that we as a group have failed." The room silences, still none the happier. "Thank you, Nymphadora, for your valiant effort." He nods in her direction, and she nods in return. Feeling guiltier by the second. Dumber with every breath.
The meeting continues, but she's not listening. Maybe this is your problem: not paying attention. She runs her hand through her now-pink hair, feeling a class fool. She deserves the dunce cap. She'll go sit in the corner. Like the troubled little kid she apparently is. But you're not. You are an Auror, a bloody Auror. You deserve to be here just as much as any of the rest of them does. You screwed up. They'll get over it. She feels slightly better. Encouraged by her own pep talk.
It was late, or getting there at least. She could feel it. She was getting sleepy, sitting there in the dark room, belly full of butterbeer, listening to them all continue to drone on.
But one name perked her attention immediately.
"When are we going to bring in Charlie?" Molly looked anxious. She wanted her children as close to home as she could keep them.
Oh, Merlin. Charlie Weasley. Here we go again…
"He's still in Romania?" Kingsley asked. Molly nodded. "I'd say we could owl him and have him come on over here, but there's no way to do that without disclosing the address, and we can't risk that." There was a rumble of agreement, mutters of "yeah, too risky," and nodding heads.
She was confused. She must have missed something. "Um, why do we need Charlie Weasley?"
"Confidential," Moody barked out. Apparently still displeased over both her earlier blunder and her current interruption. "Anyway, how are we going to get the boy here?"
"We could send someone ever to fetch him." McGonagall's suggestion seemed to go over well with the crowd.
"Excellent idea," Dumbledore concurred. "But, now, who do we send?" The room fell silent once more. Another hurdle to leap. Then just as suddenly, everyone began talking at once.
"I'd go but I'm needed over at the Ministry…"
"…look too odd if I was gone…"
"…they've got the school to worry about…"
"…don't have the time…"
Somehow, through a convoluted game of process of elimination, Tonks found all eyes on her again. "Oh, no. I mean, you can't send me?"
"Why not?" Snape drawled. "Now seems like the perfect time to redeem yourself after this last little mishap."
She glared across the table.
"But, really, all joking aside, this does seem the best course to take. I mean, she is the most expendable right now…" Way to sugar-coat it there, Moody.
It was as though she wasn't there. They were all discussing her while she sat there in their midst. She might as well not have even better there. Probably would have been better off that way, come to think of it.
But in the end, it was decided. Tonks would go fetch Charlie in five days' time. She'd leave Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. And find herself in Romania. An owl was sent to him, telling him of their plans. Vaguely, of course, lest it be intercepted. And she would go, go and fetch the man she hadn't seen since he was a boy. The man she hadn't seen since Hogwarts. The man she hadn't seen since she had gone and broken his heart.
This should be interesting.
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Charlie awakened to yet another morning four days later. Just as tired as always. Trudging as usual through the mud, stopping at the Healers' to check on Laurence. A Chinese Fireball had gotten the better of him that day and all the bones in his right leg had to be reassembled. It hadn't been a good day.
Finally making it to the Mess Hall, he plopped down next to Will who was about to fall asleep in his coffee. "Rough night?"
Will just chuckled. "I'd say so. Damn Norwegian and its sneezes." Charlie laughed as well.
Just then, an owl flew in through the open flap, nose-diving into Charlie's breakfast. He cursed as Will cracked up. Pulling the owl and the letter out of his soupy cereal, he shook the two off. He recognized the owl immediately as Ron's. Jumpy little bugger. What was its name? Cow? Dog? Pig? That was it…Pig. Will was still laughing as Charlie began opening the letter. Just as Charlie began smoothing the parchment out, he could hear yelling and screaming.
A man popped his head into the tent. "The Hungarian has breached the fences!"
"Damn it…not again…" Charlie muttered as he leapt up from the table, Will following closely behind. And sure enough, he could see the flames igniting a few lone tents. Shoving his letter in his pocket, he raced off, ready for damage control.
After quite a fight and a few burns later, Charlie found himself back in his bunk, shoving his boots off and crawling under the blankets. The letter he received: crumpled and unread on the floor.
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