Of Prophet Reactions and Oral Fixations
July 31, 1996
By midmorning, much to everyone's dismay, Mrs. Weasley informed the four that they would have to postpone the trip to Diagon Alley until the weekend, due to the lack of adults available to escort the teens. Usually, Harry would have become irate at the notion of needing bodyguards for something as simple as buying school supplies, but as it was, he was almost relieved to not have to face the general public today, after having part of his personal life splattered, even if inaccurately, across the front pages of the most read newspaper of the wizarding realm.
His friends, upon seeing his expression at the front pages of the paper asked in jest which official was being crucified today. When they received no answer, they clamored over to where Harry was standing to look over his shoulder at the headlines. Predictably, Hermione looked appalled, both at the article, and at Harry, though she was torn between berating him and asking him if there was any truth to the images. Ron had the warring emotions of pride and envy battling within him, but, in light of recent conversations, he eventually accepted that his best friend, perhaps, deserved a little bit of fun – and it did look fun from Ron's perspective; the boy flushed at his thoughts. The redness on his cheeks, however, was nothing compared to the shade of color Ginny was turning, though, due to a completely different emotion. Her jealous anger shined through on her facial expression, a standard occurrence for the entire Weasley clan. She wanted to speak up in protest, wanted to beg Harry to tell her that racier pictures were taken out of context, but, then again, she couldn't really think of a context that would adequately explain away what she was seeing. She desperately wished it were her in the photo, pressed against his bare chest, being held by him in such an intimate manner.
Her irrational childhood fantasy of being the first and only one for the Boy-Who-Lived shattering before her eyes, the youngest Weasley abruptly left, not wanting the others to see her cry; the scenario was all together very similar to the one that played out upon Harry's arrival to Grimmauld Place only a few days ago, but this time, sadly, no one recognized Ginny's departure as something out of the ordinary, and so, it was left unchecked. The event, miniscule in most of everyone else's mind, meant that until her embarrassment, interspersed with heartbreak, was sufficiently squashed, Ginny would be avoiding the other three teens in the household like the plague.
Ron voiced his opinions first, goofy grin adorning his face. "Harry, you dog. Is this what you do over the summers? Why on earth do you even bother coming back, mate?"
The appalled look on Hermione's face, if possible, intensified. "Well obviously, these photos are embellished somehow. That awful woman is just trying to stir up another scandal like always, isn't she, Harry?"
"Erm, yea. Embellished, or something," he stated weakly.
Ron just clapped him on the back, winked conspiratorially, and whispered, "you'll tell me about it later, won't you?"
"Harry!"
The rest of Harry's birthday passed without much fanfare, a fact that pleased him greatly. Because the Order meeting was the previous night, the house was relatively quiet aside from its usual occupants. Unfortunately, going on day five of being stuck in one place was beginning to take its toll on the young man, who was starting to feel restless, needing something to occupy his time. The novelty of being able to use magic began to wear off, as he soon learned that having the ability to do cast spells was of little use when he hadn't bothered to expand his repertoire of knowledge on spells. However, the prospect of rifling through the Black library for spellbooks didn't seem overly appealing to him at the moment, so he tried to come up with other ways to spend his time; he couldn't. Realizing that it was fruitless to waste his day away, he simply continued reading the information on animagus transformation Remus had given him. Not only did the tiny notebook make him feel connected to his father on a personal level, something that rarely happened, but he was also fast becoming genuinely fascinated by the process. His mind was made up before he'd even realized it; he was going to try and become an animagus.
August 3, 1996
Remus and Tonks were the only two free on Saturday to accompany the four Weasleys along with Harry and Hermione to Diagon Alley, but they decided to just go ahead and make the trip, rather than delay it once more. Before embarking on their errand, however, Mrs. Weasley took the teens aside to sternly tell them to stay together, tension tangible in her voice.
"Everyone's really high-strung right now 'cos there was an attack on one of our own last night," Tonks whispered to Harry as Mr. Weasley went through the floo, followed by Ginny, Remus close behind. "A bunch of Death Eaters attacked Emmeline Vance – dunno if you knew her," Harry shook his head, no, "but it was four against one. She never even stood a chance." He wasn't sure what to say in response, but that didn't matter much, because Mrs. Weasley chose that moment to come up from behind and separate the two whispering companions.
"Come along, Harry, you can go after Ronald," she said brusquely, looking at Tonks with clear disapproval in her eyes. Obviously, she didn't think it wise to worry the children with such details. Tonks tried to hide her eye-roll while Harry just marched towards the fireplace, holding his tongue. He was still slightly put off by the way she'd scolded at him after she'd read the article in the Daily Prophet.
Her voice had grown progressively shriller throughout her tirade, which was, embarrassingly, at the dinner table, with more people present than Harry was comfortable with, until the only words he could make out were the occasional 'scarlet women,' and 'traipsing around,' and 'taught you better' – suffice to say, he got the message, though it was not one that he appreciated. While he understood the Weasley matron's propensity towards mothering (she was, after all, the mother of seven children), he couldn't help but get annoyed at her compulsion of thinking that she always knew best. Seven children or no, he itched to point out, he wasn't one of them. Additionally, he was already working with a short fuse, and Mrs. Weasley was much closer to setting it off than she knew.
Diagon Alley seemed to be just as busy as it was four weeks ago when Harry had visited it last, but this, perhaps, was a testament to how bad things actually were. As this was a weekend, one of the busiest back-to-school shopping weekends no less, crowds should have been significantly more inflated. But because this wasn't the case, the group got through the majority of shopping in record time, stopped only briefly by the occasional schoolmate that one of them would run into at the various shops. Harry happily greeted the few familiar faces that he'd hoped to see: Neville, Seamus, even Katie brightened his day. Others, however, he could have done without, namely Pavarti and Lavender, who simply greeted Hermione and giggled rather obnoxiously in his direction throughout their entire exchange.
Harry thanked his lucky stars that his baseball cap, fitted navy blue shirt, and pale jeans made him blend in enough to not be too recognizable; strangers didn't so much as give a second glance his way. Before they'd left, Hermione commented that he possibly looked too muggle to blend in effectively. To which he replied, "For Voldemort and the press, I think 'Harry Potter' ranks a little higher on the hitlist than 'muggle', so, I'll take my chances." She rolled her eyes in response, still not comfortable enough with the idea of Voldemort wanting Harry dead to joke about it.
As their trip drew to an end, the group made their way back from the menagerie, towards the Leaky Cauldron. Some unknown compulsion caused Harry to glance down Knockturn Alley, and as they'd passed it, he caught a glimpse of a very familiar blonde haired boy, seemingly being dragged away by a cloaked figure. An alarm went off inside of Harry's brain, and upon weighing his options, his adventurous side won out.
"Oh, damn. I forgot to buy owl treats for Hedwig," he lied. "I'll just run back and buy some and meet you guys in the Leaky Cauldron, alright?" Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth in protest, but Tonks cut her off.
"I'll go with him," she said, "it's no big deal, we'll be back in a tic." The other adults seemed satisfied with the plan, and agreed.
As the two separated from the group Harry heard Ron say, "How'd he forget owl treats? That's the whole reason we went to the menagerie, in'it?" Harry, while glad to be rid of the larger group, now had to think of a way to shake Tonks away long enough for him to snoop around the unsavory parts of the street.
"Ok, Harry, where're we really going?" Harry looked at the older women, surprised. "Oh, come off it, I saw you buy owl treats. Plus, you really are just awful at lying, you know."
Harry harrumphed. "Fine, I thought I saw Draco Malfoy going down Knockturn Alley, and I wanted to see what the little ferret was up to," he admitted.
Tonks looked at Harry in disbelief. "And you were going to go by yourself?? Which part of that plan did you think was a good idea: the bit where you get yourself murdered or the part where I bring you back to life to kill you myself?"
"Hey! I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," he replied snappishly.
"Harry, fully trained wizards rarely stumble down Knockturn Alley on their own, never mind the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived. After knowing everything that you do, how could you possibly think this was a smart idea?" His disregard for his personal safety was going to be the death of her, she just knew it. Harry, for his part, looked ashamed. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought it all out when he made the split second decision. His curiosity won out in the battle of wills, consequences be damned; suddenly, whatever Draco Malfoy may or may not have been doing mattered very little to Harry. He exhaled. They were standing in front of the juncture between the two streets now, and Harry was a second away from simply calling the whole thing off when the sound of a fist making impact with a body reached his ears, followed by a sharp cracking noise and a low groan of pain. The sound repeated itself, and then a third time, followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground.
Both Tonks and Harry jumped into action, relying on instincts that told them to go help whomever was currently being assaulted. The zigzagged street made it so that they were only able to see a few feet ahead of them at a time before having to abruptly change direction. Turning at the first bend, they were met with the sight of the bloodied and battered Malfoy scion crumpled on the ground, his assailant nowhere to be found. His normally immaculate hair was matted down with blood, oozing from an unknown spot on his head. The rest of his body was in similar disarray, but the horrifying feature on the boy was, without a doubt, the state of his face. Quite obviously, whoever had beaten Malfoy aimed predominately for the boy's skull, a body part that was now swollen beyond recognition. Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. Bane of his existence or not, the boy was still on the brink of death, lying in a heap in the corner of a deserted alley. No one deserved to go like that. So, knelt down beside him, wand in hand, mentally scouring his brain for any type of healing charms he knew.
Malfoy chose this particular moment to stir, eyes cracking open. However, Harry was uncertain if he was even able to recognize who was in front of him, as his pupils were clearly clouded over with pain. From the looks of it, the boy was a hair's breadth away from going into full body shock. A gasp was heard emanating from somewhere to the left of Harry's line of vision. Before he could move, a forceful shove sent him flying to the ground.
"What did you do to my son?!" the voice snarled. Harry looked up to see the face of Narcissa Malfoy staring down at him, wand in hand, pure unadulterated hatred flickering in her eyes, a curse most likely ready to fly off the tip of her tongue.
Before he could explain himself, Tonks interceded, standing behind him, wand trained on the former Black. "He didn't do anything," she said crisply. "We thought we heard fighting, so we came by to investigate. Clearly we were mistaken; nothing out of the ordinary going on over here, is there, Mrs. Malfoy?"
Narcissa's eyes flickered between Harry and her son before she looked back at the auror, "Yes, clearly you were mistaken," she repeated stoically, "there seems to be nothing to see here, though, rest assured, your concern is duly noted. Good day, Auror Tonks. Mr. Potter." Her tone spoke of dismissal and finality. They didn't need another hint, so with that, the two bolted from the scene. Only when they were back, safely on the streets of Diagon Alley, did Harry speak.
"Should I even ask what the hell that was all about?"
"Pureblood semantics," she offered. "Don't ask, don't tell. Maybe it was our duty as decent human beings to help him, but once his mum got there, the rules of human decency are thrown out the window. They take care of their own; she'll get him help."
Harry shook his head, not understanding the pride that entailed being a pureblood, whatsoever. "Wonder who did that to him in the first place?" Tonks simply shrugged, still a bit shaken up by the state they'd found Malfoy in; the two could only speculate what could've befallen the Malfoy heir. They rejoined the larger group in the Leaky Cauldron as planned and had a brief lunch before flooing back to headquarters. All the while, Harry couldn't shake the image of a beaten and bloodied Draco Malfoy from his mind.
August 6, 1996
Harry was more than a little surprised to see that Snape was conspicuously absent among the number of those attending the Order meeting. It had been one week since his explosive encounter with the potions professor, and while he had no interest in seeing the man's face again anytime soon (if ever again), he still found his absence peculiar. A small part of his subconscious told Harry that perhaps the coward was avoiding having to face him, but the rational part of his brain knew not to give himself so much credit; loathsome as he was, Harry had to admit that Snape was not one to be intimidated easily.
Having been kicked out of the kitchen a short while ago, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were currently occupying the drawing room, all lost in their own little worlds. Harry was reclined on the sofa, absentmindedly catching and releasing the tiny golden winged ball they'd given him with one hand, Lost Magick and Forgotten Ways fanned open in the other. The comfortable silence that spanned the room was effectively broken as the door was flung open, two identical figures marching in.
"Fred! George!" Ginny exclaimed, getting up from her seat to embrace her brothers. Harry saw a dark expression pass between the two as they returned her hugs, but he was unable to decipher the meaning.
After Ron gave his brothers an equally as enthusiastic greeting he asked, "What're you two doing here?"
"We" Fred said, pointing between the two of them, "are here – "
"For the Order meeting," George finished.
"Blimey, mum let you two join?" Ron asked amazed that she would allow such a thing to occur. The ear-to-ear grins that both twins were sporting let the others know that she'd most definitely not given them permission.
"Well, dear brother, I wouldn't say she 'let us join' so much as I'd say she 'couldn't stop it from happening', considering that – "
"She didn't know until we were already in. And by then, it was too late!" the twins laughed, high-fiving one another. "Anyway, the meeting's over, so we wanted to stop by and say 'hi' before we left – "
"And we'll need to borrow Harry for a moment, too." Without waiting for an answer, they ushered Harry towards the door with them. "Ta-ta for now!"
Once the trio was safely in the hallway, away from prying ears, the twins rounded on Harry. "Greetings, partner in crime!"
"Hey, Fred. George. How's business?"
"Oh, it's going swimmingly, if I do say so myself."
"And he does say so himself. All the time in fact. It's his pick-up line nowadays."
"You weren't complaining when it worked with those two Bulgarian girls, were you?"
"Not until the next morning when my watch was gone and left thigh felt a bit itchy." Harry cleared his throat, interrupting the twins. "Oh, right. Harry," said Fred. "We wanted to give you this," he said as he pulled out a small satchel from his robes and handed it to Harry.
"We've started a new line, completely defense related, inspired by your little association last term. Thought you might like to try some of it out." Harry opened the bag to inspect the contents.
"Darkness powder, hat shields, eavesdropping devices, all sorts of useful items."
Harry was thoroughly impressed. "Wow, thanks guys. How much do I owe you?" But Fred and George shook their heads.
"Nah, mate, on the house." Harry made to protest, but neither twin would have any of it, so he reluctantly acquiesced to accepting the gift, thanking them.
"Why not just give it to Ron or Ginny, though?"
"Eh, our brother wouldn't know what to do with half this stuff if we gave it to him."
"Besides, we're counting on you continue our legacy at Hogwarts."
"As for Ginny," a nervous look passed between the two, "that's probably not a good idea either."
"She worked at the shop for a while at the beginning of the summer."
"Before mum decided that it was too dangerous."
"We wanted to let you know – "
"To be careful when you accept anything edible from her."
"Wait, what? Why?" Harry queried in confusion, "she's not trying to poison me or anything, is she?" he asked, half jokingly.
"Oh, no my dear fellow, not poison," George assured.
"Unless you consider slipping you unauthorized potions as poisoning. Then yes, maybe she's going to poison you."
George elaborated before Harry could respond with another question. "She was really interested in our WonderWitch line while she was working there."
"Which is nothing out of the ordinary, that's what all girls are interested in when they come into our shop."
"But we caught her filching some love potion from the backroom one day."
"Not just any love potion, our top of the line stuff."
"It's highly expensive, and highly effective."
"We're not sure if you'd be able to fight it off."
Harry was just as bewildered as he was when the conversation started. "That's terrible, her stealing, but what's that got to do with me?"
Fred looked at Harry, "Boy, you really are thick aren't you?"
"Who else would our Gin-Gin try to slip love potion to? Lupin? Kingsley? Maybe Snape? I don't suppose she has a thing for greasy hair and crooked noses."
"What my brother is trying to say is, there's not many people to choose from; you're the only boy her age around here that's not directly related to her."
"Yea, but she could just be saving it for the start of term. Loads of boys will catch her fancy then," Harry replied stubbornly.
George laughed. "Yes, but none of them would need the help of a love potion to pay attention to her, would they?"
"No hormonal teenage boy would turn down the advances of a girl."
"Well, except for maybe this," George jerked a thumb in Harry's direction, "hormonal teenage boy."
"Harry, we know our sister."
"And she's fancied you for ages."
"We may not be the smartest blokes in town – "
"Speak for yourself. I am the smartest bloke in town."
"But we can put two and two together."
"Just be careful about what you accept around her."
"We threw in some antidote in that bag for you for good measure."
"Wouldn't want our business partner to fall victim to our products, after all."
"Well, anyway, that's all we wanted to tell you."
"Hope you enjoy the new inventions in the bag."
"Let us know how they work out."
"Oh, and Harrykins – we saw the article in the Prophet; nice catch – the jugs on that one!"
"Too right you are, brother. Little Harry's all grown up. Anyway goodbye for now, Harry, you dog, make us proud!" And with that, the twins left a very befuddled Boy-Who-Lived in their wake. Harry was uncertain whether or not he would be able to act normally around Ginny, given his newfound knowledge, so he skipped returning to the drawing room in favor of the kitchen, as the meeting had been adjourned some time ago.
He looked around the room, hoping to spot Tonks, Fleur, or even Remus. But before he could approach any of them, he was accosted by a gnarled hand.
"Potter!" Moody barked. "What did I tell you about constant vigilance? Didn't take my advice, and where it's landed ya – caught with your trousers around your ankles, spread across the front page of the Prophet! Weren't even on the lookout for other people, were ya? And the girl! She could've been a Death Eater! A spy! Anything! If Voldemort finds out that all it takes to get ya is a pretty face, a bat of an eyelash, and a tight arse – "
"Alastor!" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, aghast.
"Harry." He turned to see Dumbledore peering over at him. Though he didn't really want to talk to the Headmaster, he most certainly would rather be anywhere else than there, listening to Mad-Eye talk about tight arses and such. He bolted, mentally steeling himself for the ensuing encounter.
"Headmaster," he said simply, albeit gratefully.
"I was wondering, Harry, if you would accompany me to the living room for a short while." Whatever he wanted to discuss, he didn't want to do it in front of other people. Harry internally sighed.
"Of course, sir." He let himself be led back out through the swinging door that he'd just entered from. As Dumbledore walked past him, Harry immediately noticed the older man's right hand looked, for lack of a better word, charred, and somewhat shriveled. The blackened skin caused for the only piece of jewelry he had adorned, a large gold ring with gemstone in the center, to standout in stark contrast to the decrepit hand. It was unsettling to Harry, but he said nothing.
Taking a seat directly across from Dumbledore, who had chosen to sit in an armchair in the center of the room, Harry simply stared across a coffee table, waiting for the Headmaster to speak first. After a long silence, he finally sighed wearily and said, "Harry, are you so upset with me that you have nothing to say?" At least the Headmaster recognized that Harry was upset with him, he gave him that much.
"With all due respect, sir, you asked me to accompany you to the living room. I was under the impression that maybe, you had something to say." He wasn't going to be intimidated by him. 'He's just an old man.'
Dumbledore simply peered over his half-moon glasses at him and smiled. "I believe I did, didn't I? I was hoping, Harry, that we would be able to discuss your, ah, exchange," he put delicately, "with Professor Snape last week."
Harry had suspected as much. "I'm not sure what there is to discuss, Headmaster. He and I haven't gotten along since we've met. That's not likely to change anytime soon."
"Yes, Harry, that does seem to be the case. However, I was hoping that you would be mature enough to put aside such behavior, if for nothing else, then for the sake of the Order."
He could feel his blood begin to boil. "Professor Dumbledore, that exchange had nothing to do with my level of maturity, and everything to do with the fact that he gave my parents up to save his own hide," he replied tersely.
"Ah, yes, perhaps you could indulge an old man by explaining where you came across such information? I do not believe you received the whole story."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't see how where I learned that from matters in any way. But if you're convinced I don't know the full story, then, please, by all means, maybe you could tell it to me."
"Professor Snape has put himself in danger many times for our cause, Harry."
"And my parents died for our cause, Professor. Again, I don't see the relevance of such statements to the issue at hand. The fact of the matter is, Snape is a bigot, and he's had a personal vendetta out against me since day one. And instead of anyone reprimanding him, his behavior has gone unopposed."
"You must understand, Harry, that I was simply giving Professor Snape the opportunity to overcome his dislike for your father. He must learn on his own to prevail over his weaknesses."
Harry just shook his head, furious. "I don't think you get it, Professor Dumbledore. He's not going to learn. A person can be on your side but still be a terrible person. You might have high hopes for Snape, but I wouldn't bet anything on his integrity. And frankly, sir, it makes me question your judgment if you can't see that."
Dumbledore looked at Harry and said sharply, "Perhaps you forget yourself, Harry, and to whom you are speaking to. Do not think so loftily as to believe that you are in any position to question my judgment."
"No, Headmaster, I know exactly who I'm speaking to. I'm speaking to a man who has time and time again asked me to grant him my trust. I am simply saying, now, that maybe I can longer afford to give you my trust so freely when your judgment is so clouded." He refrained from saying anything more. Harry yearned to lash out at the Headmaster, to scream at the man for meddling so much in his life, to accuse him of being blind to the faults of certain people, to not care about who he was wronging, but he held back. He didn't spend long hours reading chapters of the book on propriety for nothing. Moreover, he remembered Sirius' statements about Dumbledore, about how the man had the right idea, if, unfortunately, the wrong execution of such notions; and Sirius had yet to steer him wrong, even from the grave.
Professor Dumbledore stared on with doleful eyes, "I am sorry, Harry," he stated heavily, "that you feel that I have misjudged things so profoundly that you no longer see it fit to place your trust in me." He was trying to guilt him again. "Is there anything I can do to rectify the situation?"
Harry looked unconvinced; Dumbledore was trying to manipulate forgiveness out of him, that much was clear, but maybe he would be able to get something out of it as well. "Just stop keeping secrets from me, Professor," he said eventually. "If I'm as necessary to this war as everyone keeps saying I am, then I think I deserve to know what's going on. I'm not a child anymore."
Dumbledore sighed wearily once more. This was not how he'd hoped for the conversation to progress. "No, I suppose, you are not a child any longer. My hope was to shield you from such a heavy burden for as long as I could, but circumstances beyond our control, it seems, have made that an impossibility. I accept your terms, Harry. No more secrets." Seeing the unconvinced look still on Harry's face, Dumbledore added, "is there something you would like to ask me, Harry? As a test of good faith, perhaps?"
He blurted out the first question that came to mind, "What happened to your hand?"
Dumbledore smiled sadly at Harry. "I'm afraid that this the one question that I cannot fully supply an answer for at the moment." Harry's expression darkened. "But, if you would accompany me on an errand, perhaps the result will give you all the answer you need."
Though skeptical, Harry agreed to the adventure. He wasn't fooling himself; he knew that a man as used to concealing information as Dumbledore wasn't likely to change his ways, but all the same, it was a step in the right direction. "I shall come by to collect you for the task sometime next week." He just nodded.
"If there is nothing else you need from me…" Harry wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.
"There is one last thing, Harry." The young man waited for Dumbledore to continue. "I thought I should let you know that I have spoken to Minister Scrimgeour recently, and he has adamantly demanded to meet with you. I denied his requests on your behalf, as he, no doubt, will want some sort of press coverage surrounding the meetings, and I daresay you have had enough of that in the recent weeks, have you not?" The professor said, eyes twinkling once more.
Harry met the Headmaster's gaze. Where did he get off, denying any sort of requests on his behalf? "I'll agree to meet with him." Dumbledore's face contorted into an expression of immediate disapproval.
"Harry, I do not think it wise for you to – "
"The wizarding world needs to see a united front in the war effort right now, Professor," Harry interjected, "I may not be the most astute, but I know that now, more than ever, people are counting on us to work together. So, even if that means that I have to pretend to get along with the minister, I'll do it for the sake of 'our cause' as you say."
"Very well, Harry. If that is what you think is best, I will not try to stop you. But let me just give you a word of warning, Harry. The world of politics is no place for a schoolboy; I have seen the most skilled of men fall victim to its machinations. I'll leave you tonight with that in mind. Be ready to come along on a mission with me sometime soon." Dumbledore left the room, considerably more displeased than when he had first entered.
August 17, 1996
It was late into the evening, with most of the occupants of Grimmauld Place already asleep, save three teenagers, who were sitting on the floor of the expansive library. Harry's level of frustration mounted to on all time high as he chucked the thin leather notebook across the room, though he immediately regretted his action; it wasn't the book's fault that he was failing quite miserably at his endeavor. At first, he'd managed to achieve all the levels of progress with relative ease; his father's notes would explain how to perform the action, and Harry would end up with results as described in his notes. Everything was going perfectly well until he got to stage five of the process, which stated, quite vaguely, 'Sirius, Peter, and I finally got the meditation down pat, so we've decided to just go ahead and get on with it; anima verto to change, homanus verto to go back. Simple enough. Here's hoping we don't kill ourselves.' The passage following it, said, equally as unhelpfully, 'Good news/bad news. Good news is, it worked! Bad news: Peter's a rat, and I'm a bloody deer… a deer. Well, I have antlers, so technically I'm a stag, but really? Sirius gets to be a great big scary mongrel, and I'm a prancing ponce. How is this going to help Remus? I stand there as bait to distract him while Sirius tries to hold him off? That is, when he isn't trying to eat me, too – the bloody bastard almost gnawed my leg off during the first transformation. Then, the stag in me did what it had to do and practically gored him – there's a reason why doing this without supervision is illegal…'
The process, Harry discovered, was only lengthy because the Marauders had to find the information on their own. Given that his father had compiled it all in one place, Harry and his friends avoided that hurdle nicely. They also found out that the transformation was illegal outside of ministry supervision only for the very reason that James had described; whatever animal the wizard turns into temporarily takes over their thoughts and instincts, leading to sticky situations like accidentally gnawing off a friend's leg. Legality aside, it didn't take much convincing to get Ron and Hermione on board: Ron jumped at the opportunity to become an animagus, and Hermione's penchant for knowledge trumped her misgivings towards any issues of legality.
"Maybe we should just take a break," Hermione said, trying to calm her friend down. "I mean, we've progressed really quickly, Harry." Ron nodded, fidgeting at the tense feelings in the room.
He shook his head, "it only took them a week after figuring the steps out to change successfully, and that's with schoolwork to worry about. We've been at it nonstop for way longer. I'm messing something up, I know it."
Hermione looked thoughtfully, "Do you think maybe it's the wandwork?" The motion was a rather complex one, Harry had to admit, but he wasn't convinced that was the issue; having become rather adept at spellchaining in his practices with Tonks and Fleur, he was confident in that regard.
Harry walked over to the book and picked it up, skimming the pages for the umpteenth time. "There's got to be something we're missing." His friends were silent.
After a moment, Hermione hesitantly supplied the question that was lurking in the back of everyone's minds, "What if we just don't have forms, Harry?"
He looked up from the book. He wasn't angry at the insinuation; it was a valid question. Not all wizards had an animal counterpart, and this was a fact that he'd mulled over in his head quite often in the last few weeks. However, his conclusion was always the same. "If a sorry excuse for a wizard like Wormtail can have a form, then we do, too," he stated resolutely. "Even if he is a rat," he added, taking a jab at the traitor. After all, the smaller your animal, the less magically capable you were. Harry was quite proud that his father was as large of an animal as he was after learning this fact.
"Here, let me see that for a second, then." Harry handed her the notebook. She read the pages over for a half an hour before she said anything else. Meanwhile, Ron beat Harry in a game of chess, twice. "Guys, listen to this: 'at first, I wanted to blame Peter for messing something up when he transfigured me. I mean, I changed Sirius, and he got a pretty good deal… but then, we found out that the type of animal is determined by our personality, and its size matches with magical ability. I knocked Sirius down a few pegs, I think, when I pointed out that my stag form was the biggest of the three of us. I wonder what this says about Peter? Even for a rat, he's on the small side…'"
Hermione looked excited. It was the exact same expression that her twelve-year-old face had when she found the name Nicholas Flamel. "You haven't been doing anything wrong, Harry, I think the problem is that you can't perform this spell on yourself; you have to get someone else to do it for you." Harry and Ron both looked happy in light of the new development, but Harry's face quickly reverted back to a frown.
"But I'm the only one out of the three of us right now that can use my wand. Unless…" he paused and turned to Ron. "You grew up with older brothers; how does the age restriction work? Does it track the wand or the wizard?"
Ron looked bewildered for a moment, not fully understanding where he was going with this, but answered after a brief silence, "I don't really know, mate. I guess the ministry tracks the wand? They can't really track the wizard, can they? Not in a house full of them. When we were little, the twins turned my things into spiders a lot," he paled at the memory. "They stole Dad's wand to do that, now that I think of it."
Harry looked elated. "Brilliant. We can just use my wand then!" The three decided that, worst-case scenario, if their theory was wrong, that Ron or Hermione would only receive a warning, as neither of them had been reprimanded before. Nonetheless, Hermione made the observation that perhaps Harry should cast the spell first, considering it was his wand, and, it would, therefore, respond the most effectively to him. He didn't like the idea of making one of his friends the guinea pig, but understood the logic.
"Ok, so who wants to go first?" he asked. Both parties looked reluctant to volunteer. Eventually, Ron stepped up, his anticipation palpable.
"What's the worse that could happen," he joked nervously. Harry refrained from answering that lots of bad things could potentially happen.
Instead he just said, "Alright, then. Ready?" Ron nodded, fidgeting once more, bracing himself. Hermione instinctively took a step backwards as Harry started the incantation
"Animus verto," and with a final, diagonal slash, a white beam of light hit Ron in the chest, causing him to start shrinking almost immediately. A moment later, in his place, stood a small, no larger than a Pomeranian, red-furred warthog. Hermione squealed, making her way toward the animal. The miniature warthog squealed back in alarm and promptly disappeared. Harry and Hermione both looked dumbfounded, staring at the spot that Ron, or rather, Ron as a warthog, had just occupied. The animal reappeared a moment later, cowering in the far corner of the room. Both Harry and Hermione approached him slowly, but, like any animal being backed into a corner would, the warthog snorted, throwing his tusks back, preparing to charge.
"Harry, turn him back," Hermione whispered urgently. Harry did just that, with not a second to spare, as the spell hit the animal just as it moved to rampage. A moment later, a normal sized Ron tumbled over himself, less than a meter away from his two friends. He grabbed his head and moaned at the dull throbbing feeling behind his eyes.
"Ron, that was outstanding!" Hermione exclaimed.
"What's so outstanding about it?" he replied glumly, "I'm a bloody warthog."
Hermione shook her head in disagreement. "You're not a warthog, Ron," she said, though she did see the irony, and would have laughed were she not in full lecture mode. "You look like one, but you became invisible when you saw us; you're a tebo! Oh, magical creatures are so rare! I don't even know if there's a registered one alive right now. What's it feel like? Did the animal instincts take over like the notes said? Of course it did, or else you wouldn't have just disappeared – does it hurt?" she jabbered away excitedly, positively teeming with questions.
Ron sat up a little straighter, puffing his chest out slightly upon hearing that he was a tebo. Not only did he have an animal counterpart, he had a magical one. "Well, it didn't hurt too badly, I s'pose," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's the strangest feeling though. One minute I'm me, and the next, everything started looking taller. Smells were a little strong, and the noises were way too loud. I think I got spooked, and I guess I became invisible, right? I wasn't really controlling it though; my brain just kind of did whatever it thought it was supposed to."
"Could you control it if you'd tried, though?" Harry asked, trying to figure out how the process worked. Ron shrugged.
"Dunno. Didn't really get a chance to get my bearings. I'm not sure if I could've stopped myself from trying to take out your shins though," Ron said apologetically.
Harry just grinned, "S'alright, you'll get it next time." He looked at Hermione, who seemed a lot more certain about taking part than before, now that she'd just witnessed a rather successful trial. "Ready, 'mione?" She nodded. He repeated the spell and watched as she slowly morphed into a winged creature. She had a sharp yellow beak, large brown eyes that were shifting back and forth to take in all the objects in the room, and a body full of dark brown feathers, a little fluffier than a normal bird of prey. Harry easily recognized her form as a peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in existence. Neither he nor Ron made any sudden movements, learning from their previous experience.
After a few moments, Ron let out a shaky, "Hermione?" The bird turned its head sharply in the direction of the noise, unfurling its wings, perceiving the sound as danger. She shot up, faster than any bird Harry had ever seen before, and in the blink of an eye, landed haphazardly on the light fixture hanging form the ceiling. Because the room had such high ceilings, Harry didn't think it prudent to try and change her back in her current position; she'd fall quite a ways. Instead, the boys had to try and coax the bird back down, while it stared below, quizzically, at the two bumbling teenagers who were making awkward cooing noises.
Slowly, her conscious mind, which had, until that point, been busy taking every aspect of the room she was in, started to feel a bit hazy. The faces below seemed familiar to the bird, but she couldn't discern how or why. Bit by bit, the fog lifted as she sat, perched upon the ceiling fixture. Eventually, she swooped down, landing delicately in front of the black haired boy and looked at his face, cocking her feathery head to the side. She let out a piercing shriek of recognition, and flapped her wings enthusiastically, ruffling her feathers.
"Homanus verto." Hermione reappeared, sitting cross-legged in front of Harry, Cheshire grin adorning her face.
"Did you see??" she asked, reminiscent of a child who had just completed a particularly arduous task.
Both boys smiled. "Yea, Hermione, we saw. You were brilliant," Harry assured her, taking a seat next to his friend.
Ron chimed in, "And bloody hell, you flew. You don't even like flying on brooms!"
"Well this is a bit different, Ron," she said defensively, "there's not the likelihood that my wings are going to fall off – can't say the same about a broom, can I?"
Harry shook his head, not wanting to witness a pointless argument, interceded, "It looked like you figured out who we were pretty quickly. What's that like?"
She recounted the feelings magnificently, elaborating on how it felt like a fog was lifting from her thoughts, rather than a battle of wills between her rational mind and her baser instincts. "It's a lot like waking up from a dream," she compared, "it just takes a moment before you figure out where you are and what's going on." Harry shifted his weight anxiously, impatiently wanting to experience it for himself. Hermione picked up on that fact quickly.
"You want to give it a go, Harry?" He all but jumped to his feet in response. A quick exchange between Hermione and Ron concluded with Hermione holding Harry's wand.
Ron merely shrugged, "Between me and Hermione, I don't think it takes a genius to figure out who would be less likely to muck it up," he explained plainly. So, she took a deep breath, mentally saying a little prayer that, a) she wouldn't somehow screw up, and b) that their theory about underage magic was correct. Harry showed her the arm motion one last time before she pointed the wand at him and uttered the spell.
The first thing that caught Harry's attention was the tingling sensation that he felt spread throughout his body. Though not an altogether unpleasant sensation, he wasn't keen on wanting it to last. Luckily, other observations began to override the strange feeling, as his eyesight sharpened considerably, his line of vision was no longer quite as high, and the smells of the room overwhelmed him. The last lucid thought he had in his mind was that standing on all fours was much more comfortable than he'd thought it would be.
Ron and Hermione watched their friend's transformation with bated breath. He shrank a tiny bit in size. His face elongated into a snout as his body grew shaggy fur. His hands and feet turned into paws, forcing his body into a recumbent position. When his transformation was complete, Hermione's first reaction was to compare him to a larger version of Padfoot, but when her face met his eyes, still green, his facial construction changed her mind quickly. A snarl was etched into the animal's expression, baring its rather long, sharp teeth. Its pointed ears looked more like those of a werewolf's, but were supplanted on this abnormally large canine instead. Its paws were massive, disproportionately large, in fact, with gleaming claws attached. She backed away slowly, wand in hand forgotten. The redhead stood, rooted to the spot, eyes wide in fear, but upon seeing Hermione's movement, began to do the same.
The canine, if you could call it that, growled at the actions, and stalked slowly towards the retreating teens, eyes glowing menacingly. Soon, they were backed into a corner with nowhere left to turn, beast approaching in the same, slow stalking manner. Both called out his name, but to no avail. Ron valiantly tried to place himself in between Hermione and animal, as if his body would last for a second against those claws. With less than a meter between Harry and the two human bodies, Ron closed his eyes and braced himself, wincing at the thought of being torn to shreds by his best friend.
The sounds coming from the other two figures in the room sounded foreign to Harry. They were clearly gesticulating at him, but he couldn't discern what they were saying. He stalked closer, sniffing the air, taking in the familiar scents. His mouth watered at the thought of taking a large bite out of the brown haired one, but the skinnier, not as appetizing, red-haired person was standing in the way – no matter; he could take care of him easily. Yet, the closer he got, the more insistent the nagging voice in his head became, the one that was telling him he shouldn't try to sink his teeth into the flesh of the other creatures. He stopped, snout centimeters away from the male's cheek. As he breathed in, he caught a whiff of grass and fabric; the nagging part of his mind was louder than ever. Torn between capturing his prey and falling victim to the commanding voice, he opened his jowls. A second later, Ron felt something wet run along his face.
"Urgh," was his only response as he wiped the saliva off with his shirt. He opened his eyes to see the black beast sitting in front of him, tongue lolling out the side of its mouth. Harry decided that the redhead tasted even less appetizing than he looked. Hermione stepped out from behind Ron, approached the animal hesitantly, and patted it on its head. It closed its eyes in contentment as she scratched behind his ears. She withdrew her hand and transformed him back into a human. A moment later, Harry was back, eyes still closed, a small smile on his lips, relishing in the feeling of being scratched. He shook his head, snapping back to reality, and opened his eyes.
His friends' eyes were comical in size. Harry looked at the two, a bit baffled at their reactions. "You're a fucking hellhound!" Ron blurted out, a bit fearfully.
"Ronald! Language!" Hermione said sharply. Harry looked alarmed; he thought he was simply a large dog. "Though he was a bit rude, I think he might be right," Hermione conceded, "you might be a hellhound. Or a barghest," she supplied thoughtfully. When she was met with blank stares, she explained, "A barghest, you know, like a grim, but not. You'll only be able to tell the difference if you can do a few other things too, like disappear with the shadows… Or transform into a bear." She sounded so matter-of-fact; Harry choked.
"Shadows? A bear?" he sputtered.
Before she could reply, Ron inserted, "but hellhounds and barghests… aren't those dark creatures?" Hermione shot him a pointed look, but didn't refute his question. Harry's heart plummeted; so, he was a dark creature?
She then gazed upon Harry with a concerned expression, "we're not even sure if that's what you are yet, exactly. Why don't we figure it out before we jump to conclusions?" He tried to let her words reassure him, but Harry subconsciously already knew that further research wouldn't change the conclusion.
Ron tried to salvage the situation, "at least you're a magical creature, too, right?" he offered weakly. Somehow, it wasn't much of a consolation to Harry. Hermione directed the conversation away from theorizing about Harry's form by talking about where they would go from there; now that they had all transformed successfully, there was a lot of work ahead of them, by way of controlling their instincts while in animal mode, as well as learning to shift back and forth without the aid of a wand. Regardless, Harry was still rather glum due to the implications of his form, recalling his father's words about Wormtail's rat animagus. But what does this say about me?
Harry decided that he needed a little time alone to think, excusing himself by claiming that he was hungry, and went off into the direction of the kitchen. Ron and Hermione were both skeptical of his statement, but didn't argue, letting him go, knowing that he'd want to be left alone for a while.
Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the last person he wanted to face at the moment, though, on the bright side, her presence momentarily banished all thoughts of barghests and hellhounds out of his mind. Tonks was sitting on a barstool, leaning on the island with a glass in hand, staring off into space, not even noticing a second occupant in the room.
Earlier that day, she had cut short their usual all-day Saturday hang outs with the announcement that she had a date that night, and she had to go get ready. He attributed his immediate distaste for the notion to the sole fact that it was cutting into their Saturday routines, not that he found the idea of her dating reprehensible, no, no. She could date whomever she wanted to, he thought savagely as he took a hard swing at Bert's head. He didn't allow for his aversion towards the matter to show, though, at least not to too great of an extent. He just stiffly told her that he hoped she would have a good time, and left shortly thereafter, muttering something about work that needed to be done; he didn't say that the only work he was planning on doing would be to work out his frustration on Bert's poor, already battered, wooden body.
Now, seeing her again, clearly back from aforementioned date, Harry had half a mind to simply turn around and leave before she realized he was there. However, he stopped himself, a few curious thoughts whizzing about in his mind. First, she was still dressed for a date, with a red, backless, halter-top dress that clung to her body, stopping at the knee; she was breathtaking. He shook the lewd images that accompanied his current train of thought out of his mind. Besides, he was also mildly concerned that her hair was a dark brown, hanging in ringlets partway down her back; since he'd known her, she'd only ever had dark hair in the few days following Sirius' death, preferring brighter, more cheerful pigments. Lastly, that she was back already, made him question what could have cut the date short, though he mentally berated himself for feeling slightly elated at the fact. I shouldn't be relishing in her discomfort. And her body language, indeed, screamed of discomfort and despondence.
So, against his better judgment, he approached her, plopping down in the barstool next to the one she was sitting in. Finally taking notice of his presence, Tonks inclined her head in his direction. "Wotcher, Harry." Even her tone matched her subdued hair color.
"Hullo, Tonks, how goes it?"
She snorted, taking a gulp of amber liquid out of her tumbler. "It's barely past midnight on a Saturday, and I'm sitting in the kitchen drinking alone. How do you think it goes?" she responded forlornly.
So, maybe it was a dumb question. He tried to think of something to say to try and brighten her mood. "Yea, well, I just almost ate my best friends," was all he could muster up.
Tonks' eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. She slid her glass over into his direction, "you win," she replied. He'd already told her about his attempts at becoming an animagus, so she wasn't bewildered at the strangeness of the statement, though her eyes brightened considerably. "Oh, but that means you finally did it! Congratulations, Harry! What are you?? I bet you're a jungle cat of some kind, that's always been my suspicion."
Harry shook his head, draining the glass. "I wish; that would make things loads easier. We don't even know what the bloody hell I am." At her confused look, he added, "We think I might be a hellhound or a barghest. As if it mattered if I was one or the other. I'm a bloody monster, either way." Tonks mind reeled at the thought. Had she not known Harry so well, she would've been inclined to say that he must be mistaken; nobody could be either of those things, it was simply unheard of. All the same, because she did know Harry, and knew that he wouldn't say such a thing unless it were true, she didn't protest.
Instead, she gave a low whistle, "Never a dull moment with you, is there, Mr. Potter?" They were good enough friends for her to realize when it was the time to pry and ask questions, and when it was appropriate to just stay quiet and simply offer pleasant company. This was an instance of the latter, and it spoke volumes to her level of understanding of the young man to be able to differentiate between the two.
"No," he agreed, "but, oh, what I wouldn't give for a dull moment or two."
She shook her head ruefully, "nah, I wouldn't waste energy on that; us dull folk don't really have it put together either. Course," she added, "our problems are more along the lines of 'dealing with disastrous dates' and less to do with 'possibly devouring our friends', but, ya know, it is what it is."
Harry chuckled in spite of himself, "I wouldn't be so hasty to categorize myself in the 'regular folk' group, if I were you, Nymphadora." He ignored the hateful glare she sent him at the usage of her given name. "But, I'll humor you; tell me, what kind of disastrous dates do you dull folk have to put up with?" His mood had lifted considerably at the thought of her night ending poorly, even though he knew that it was in poor taste to feel satisfaction at her expense.
Tonks' nose wrinkled in disgust at the memory, taking the empty glass from Harry's hand and refilling it. "Oh, just the garden variety, I'm sure you know the kind; where you're on a date with a perfectly respectable bloke… and his wife shows up to ruin it," she said in an overly light tone of voice. Giving him a sideways glance, "No? Not familiar with the sort? Just me then? Lovely," she finished dryly, taking another swig from her glass.
Harry didn't know if he was supposed to laugh at her statement or not, but was more than a little fearful of her reaction, so he refrained. "Well, I can't say that I've ever been on a date with a bloke before, so I don't really know how that's supposed to go, but I take it that he's not supposed to have a wife, for starters."
"No," she huffed, "he most certainly is not." He grabbed the glass from her hand, as she was liable to crack it in half just by the grip she had on it. "Or at least he should have the decency to let a girl know before the third bloody date" she said roughly, forgoing the glass altogether and just taking pulls straight from the bottle at this point. "He better hope I don't see him at work anytime soon," she said abruptly.
Under different circumstances, Harry might've felt sorry for the poor bastard, but as it was, he really couldn't have cared less if Tonks castrated the guy, which was exactly what her tone was implying she would do upon seeing him again. In all fairness, though, Harry blanched at the thought. "He's an auror, too, then?"
Tonks shook her head furiously, "Absolutely not! Robert," she spat, "works for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. That should've been red flag number one; they're all sleazy bastards over there, every last one of them. To think, I was going to see if he wanted to come to the world cup with me. Ugh," she looked nauseated at the thought; or, perhaps, from the large amounts of liquor she was consuming. Either way, she proceeded to rest her forehead against the cool marble countertop of the island to quell her sudden dizziness. She felt a hand on her lower back, moving in small, soothing circles. She turned her head, touching her right cheek to the counter, so that she could look over at Harry.
He'd intended to simply pat her back sympathetically, really he did, but the second his fingers touched the smoothness of her skin, exposed by the lowness of her dress, he felt the need to keep the contact going, lewd thoughts that he'd so ardently tried to banish, returning to his mind. As she turned her head to make eye contact with him, her brown curls cascaded over her shoulders, flowing over his hands. The sensation the silkiness of her alabaster skin caused his mouth to go dry as she focused her startlingly clear, hazel irises upon him. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd thought of her in a sexual way, far from it. The problem was that he harbored a suspicion that she only saw him in a brotherly manner, considering she never really hinted to any deeper feelings on her part. He rationalized that she was seven years older and in a completely different stage in her life; of course she couldn't possibly have an interest in a teenaged schoolboy. He exhaled shakily, forcibly removing his hand from her back before he gave into the urge of running his fingertips down her spine.
She shivered slightly at the loss of contact. As she stared at Harry, Tonks tried to read the expression on his face, usually able to do so with relative ease. Having spent so many waking hours with the young man in front of her in a very short amount of time, Tonks was quite proud to say that she knew more about him than most other people did. She'd seen him at his worst, at his best, hell, she'd seen him naked; but as she fixated her gaze upon his expression, his emotion was unreadable to her, a rare happening. The intensity of his stare, however, only magnified the dizziness she was feeling, even with her head laying down. "You can keep doing that, if you want. It feels nice." She wanted the contact to continue, wanted the feeling of his calloused hands on her skin.
At first, Tonks attributed the desire she occasionally felt for Harry to the fact that she'd seen him in all sorts of compromising positions. Once those images were already planted in a person's head, it's much easier for them to manifest themselves… anyone in her position would feel the same way from time to time, right? But as the 'occasional' inappropriate thought turned into 'reoccurring' preoccupations, Tonks began to feel like a dirty old woman, lusting after a teenager. 'He wasn't even born in the same decade as you were! Does he even remember when Margaret Thatcher was elected? Was he even alive when it happened? Is he even old enough to drive a car? Nymphadora, this just isn't right.' Her conscious was a bitch sometimes (it eerily sounded like Molly Weasley, if Tonks ever bothered to pay close enough attention to either voices to make the connection). And then, wouldn't you know it, fate, thankfully, or not, threw another wrench into the mix, in the form of Fleur Delacour.
Of the many faults that one could attribute to Nymphadora Tonks, obliviousness was not among them. Of course she picked up on the flirtations between Harry and Fleur, how could she not? She was almost grateful for it; it was all the more reason for her to try to not be affected by him in the way that she was. But all the same, her friend's possible interest in the young man quashed the impure thoughts of Tonks' treasonous mind for, oh, about a day and a half, before they came back with a vengeance. She sighed dejectedly, closing her eyes, as his fingers reclaimed their former spot on her lower back. Here she was, back from a date with a man who was able to keep her interest for more than just one evening – which was not a common occurrence for her – and he had the nerve to suddenly have a wife. And now, she was back to entertaining naughty thoughts about the perfectly sweet (though not without his own baggage) ridiculously wrong for her, teenager who was up keeping her company. Her love life was a wreck. She sighed once more.
Harry's concern for the state that his companion was in only grew as he sat there with her, his fingers dancing along her flesh. It wasn't often that Tonks, the most cheerful person Harry knew, exhibited such depressing behavior – how could such a normally happy person make a sigh sound so dejected? Silence lapsed between the two, and after a few minutes, Harry questioned whether or not Tonks was even still awake. How much, exactly, did she have to drink?
"Tell me something, Harry," her voice cut through the stillness.
"Hm?"
"Tell me something," she repeated, "anything. So I can stop being all mopey. A poem, a limerick, a personal anecdote, anything."
"Er, ok… Um. There once was a man from Nantucket – "
Tonks' giggle interrupted him, "anything but that. And you can't use that one on me; I taught it to you!"
"So you did," he chuckled, "alright then. Can't rhyme to save my life, so personal anecdote it is. Have I told you that I have Dumbledore ticked off at me at the mo'?"
"No," she sounded vaguely intrigued, "do tell," her eyes opened to look at him, resting her cheek on her hand, elbow propped up on the counter, while he recounted the story.
"I kinda lost it on him the other day," he said sheepishly, continuing with his story. But Tonks was having a difficult time discerning what he was saying. For one thing, her head was beginning to spin… or was it the room that was doing the spinning? Secondly, she made the mistake of staring at his mouth, watching his lips move, in an effort to pay attention to what he was saying; now she was stuck thinking about how nice of a mouth he had. "…my defense…" she made a noncommittal noise, nodding her head at the snippet she'd caught as she zoned back into reality.
She supposed that he'd just said something he found to be clever or amusing, because his lips, those damnable lips, quirked into an easy grin. 'Stop that, Nymphadora; he's just a boy'. Her conscious, bless its little heart, was trying to make a reappearance, it seemed. It would have been convincing, had it not slurred its words so much. Its next protest of 'he's sixteen' flittered through her mind, sounding remarkably like 'hishpean'. 'Hishpean'? Ok, no more alcohol for you, Nymphadora.
"Huh? Wait, what?" she said dumbly.
"I said," Harry looked at her, an amused, cheeky smile on his face, "no more alcohol for you, 'dora. You were fading fast on me there. Was this full when you started?" He swirled the bottle in his left hand, only a third of the amber liquid remaining.
"Um. Maybe?" She truthfully didn't know.
"Well, maybe we should just get you to bed," he said, the amused look never leaving his face. She agreed. A bed would be positively delightful. Perhaps he would like to join? 'Hishpean!' That silly conscious of hers really ought to start making more sense if it wanted her to take it seriously.
Operation Get Tonks to Sleep, simple as it sounded, proved to be rather problematic. She was in no state to floo, let alone apparate, back to her flat, a fact that made itself abundantly clear as she got up off the barstool, only to sway dangerously into the counter, arm shooting out to brace herself. Why did she get herself so sloshed, again? Oh, right. Conniving married men. Moving on, then.
Harry grabbed Tonks by the waist to steady her swaying, amusement gone, replaced by alarm. "Tonks? You alright?" he asked softly.
She turned her head to face him, taking note of the fact that, he was standing awfully close to her. And with the heels that she was currently wearing, her eyes were level with the tip of his nose… which meant that they were mere centimeters away from his lips. Her eyes flickered down on their own volition. Yep. Lips were still there. His stupid mouth had to go and be more appealing up close.
Seeing a queer expression momentarily flash across her face, Harry got a little nervous, worried she might throw up on him. "Tonks," he repeated, "Want me to get you something? Do'ya need a glass of water or…? Want me to walk you to the restroom…? The sink?"
"Harry," she said, same queer expression on her face – and was she staring at his mouth? "I want you to stop talking." And with that, she leaned up and captured his lips with her own. His mouth felt lovely pressed against hers. Who the hell bloody cares when Margaret Thatcher got elected, anyhow?
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Addressing points brought up by you guys:
9aranoia: I agree. The whole scene with Snape was kind of hard to write, but I ultimately figured that Harry is a sixteen year old: maybe he's allowed the occasional immature fight?
Steel Griffin: I don't think I'll write in a three-way, but there's going to be plenty of focus on relationship development of the binary sort. Hope it doesn't disappoint!
Amaterasu-Black Flame: Thanks! As for a Harry/Fleur/Tonks, trust me when I say that I would be horrible at writing something like that. Don't fret though, neither of those girls are going anywhere anytime soon.
Lord Archeron: Fleur stays. The summary says 'eventual H/T', so no surprises there, but this story's characters are starting to take a life of their own, so who knows what's going to happen between here and the end.
Siven80: The flashbacks are way harder to write than they're worth. At first, this story was kind of my exploration of time manipulation and continuity, but good lord, skipping around becomes complicated. I'll have a couple more in the next few chapters, so bear with me, but they're gone after that for sure. And I'm glad you enjoy this portrayal of Tonks, she's so underappreciated!
To the above and everyone else who reviewed: Gracias for the comments, some of you guys are just too kind! As always, reviews and constructive comments are appreciated!
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Author's Note: As a warning to you readers, I just want to put it out there that I'll probably only be able to get out one more chapter (hopefully) before updates slow down considerably. I fully anticipate my life getting ridiculously hectic between now and May, so I won't have as much time to devote to this story as I would like. Rest assured, I'm not abandoning this, but just don't be alarmed when the usual update every 3-5 days doesn't come. Thanks!