I find a bench in one of the parks in Muggle London. It's nice out here with the pigeons and the squirrels so I curl my feet up and begin to look at the paper work I've brought with me. That makes me sound like a hard worker, but I'm really not, honest, it's just sometimes my mind will think of things when it's otherwise unoccupied, and it's handy to have my notes with me.

Unfortunately this time it doesn't seem to be working so I amuse myself by watching the other lunchtime escapees. My eyes finally settle on a man occupying the bench to my right. He's reading a tatty paperback with the cover almost hanging off and most of the pages look like they have been folded over. It reminds me of my books: mistreated but well loved, and it must be fascinating judging by how many times he seems to have read it. Unless of course he's borrowed it from a friend, I think hearing Moody's voice in my head warning me about the dangers of presumption. I slouch down a bit to see if I can see the book's title but he shifts suddenly, crossing his other leg so I can't quite see. When I sit up I realise he is looking straight at me and I smile sheepishly realising I've been caught, either that or he's noticed my orange hair. He doesn't smile back but frowns slightly and returns to his book, which is obviously far more interesting. I look instead at my notes from the scrolls and wonder if it was cut throat of Dumbledore to recruit his students, quite a few of his students, and their teachers. The teachers seemed to do much better though, the majority of them living to be my teachers. Although that doesn't mean I'm going to swan into Hogwarts and confront Minerva McGonagall about her suspected Order activity. I value my life thank you very much. Instead I begin to search for my case notes on the Venomous Tentacula Seeds. What I find instead is the last page of an interview with Ronald Billious Weasley. I thought I'd filed all these after the Triwizard Tournament fiasco. Why the hell not? It's Arthur Weasley's fault I'm in this bloody mess anyway.

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"Tonks," Angela Gibbert pops her head over the divide as I drop my stuff back on my desk. "Mrs Swithering's in the fire place for you."

The poor girl tries to hide her smile but can't quite manage it.

"I'm not here."

"Please Tonks, she's driving us all nuts."

"Can't someone else do it?"

"But you're such a nice young lady," she mimics.

"I'll call her back before I leave, I promise, but right now I have to go down to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts."

Angela groans but her head retreats. Not feeling as guilty as I should I sneak into the elevator.

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I'm never sure what to call Arthur Weasley, when I visited The Burrow as a lanky teen it was always Mr Weasley, although if I do that now it's definitely going to sound like an interrogation. I try Arthur a few times until it sounds less unfamiliar, but by that time he has already looked up and given me a cheery wave through the glass.

"Wotcher, Mr Weasley," I say and then curse myself.

"Hello Tonks, take a seat."

I slide into Perkins' chair. The office reminds me a lot of my flat: the complete chaos of clutter, things spilling out of drawers, it should make me feel right at home, but I am here under false pretences and I fidget slightly.

"Did you get into trouble about earlier?" He is polishing his glasses, squinting at me across what appears to be a disassembled toaster.

"No, not really, just some extra work to do, you know?"

"Oh yes," he chuckles, "how can I help? I presume this isn't a social visit. Just promise me no more regurgitating toilets."

"No, I just wondered about earlier. You believe Dumbledore, about what he's saying?"

Arthur looks up at the door, probably checking that it's closed, "yes, I've never made any secret about that. After today it sounded like you believe an awful lot of what he has to say too."

I don't answer, I realise I'm biting my nails and sit on my hands quickly. My mum always used to say that I shouldn't be allowed to get away with it just because I could morph them back again. "I just thought that maybe you were prepared to do something about it."

He looks at me again and I can see the tips of his ears going slightly red, Charlie used to look like that when I caught him out in a lie, and he reaches for his cup in order for something to do.

I feel mean but I press my advantage anyway, "have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

I duck just in time, the sprayed tea misses my head by millimetres and I have to nearly climb over his desk to slap him on the back. I am about to call for help when he manages to start breathing again and begins cleaning his glasses furiously.

"Sorry about that."

"No, my fault Mr Weasley, I'm a bit blunt that's all."

He recovers himself sitting back in his chair, "what are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, thinking it's probably best not to mention my extra credit assignment from Scrimgeour, "they were around in the First War and if He is back than I just thought…."

I don't know what I thought, that this rather friendly Muggle boffin would be out fighting Death Eaters on his days off. I look at his astounded expression and feel like a complete fool.

"Sorry," I wrinkle my nose in apology, "just you're always so ready to defend Dumbledore. I thought you might know something."

"Why in Merlin's name are you interested, Tonks?"

He sounds worried about me, and of course he should because I am obviously completely crackers, "oh just something I was thinking about."

"I shouldn't let it worry you."

The fatherly concern is really too much.

"Thanks for your time then," I stand up rather too quickly banging my knee on the desk, "give Charlie my best if you see him," I add for niceties sake and run back to my cubicle.